


Wildest Dreams

by Belliadonna



Category: JackSepticEye (YouTube RPF), Markiplier (YouTube RPF), Septiplier - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drama, Jack is an actor. :), M/M, Markimoo is a goofy physics professor, Maybe a little angst, Slow Build, Substance Abuse, also some trigger warnings involving self-harm in later chapters, typical romcom type
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 05:03:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6739177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belliadonna/pseuds/Belliadonna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The life of a simple physics teacher changes dramatically when he meets the most infamous actor in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Everything Has Changed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All I know is we said hello.

It was close to impossible not to know Jack Graw. His name and face were on many posters plastered all over his town—movie advertising bearing a handsome face with crystalline eyes and a soft smile; staring at Mark Fischbach, age twenty-five, as he walked past the posters on his way to the university. Working as a college professor was a good use of Mark’s inborn ability to talk continuously for a very long time—an added bonus, or so his students tell him, was that he always managed to keep the lessons from being too boring. There was not much he could do to make learning about irreversible thermodynamical equilibrium interesting enough, but his almost comedic way of putting across information made every physics lecture hurt his students’ psyche a little less.

Of course, the job was not without drawbacks. There were students that were dead-set on making his life hell—he was, after all, the youngest teacher in the school. However that never really bothered him much, after all, he still gets paid at the end of the month, regardless of whether or not those lazy assholes fail or not. His colleagues weren’t all that bad either. Overall, it was a good job, he was actually enjoying himself.

Except for today. Today was bad—no, no. Today was going horribly.

It was 8:40 when he woke up with a start. Not only did Mark forget to set his alarm clock last night, there was also an 8:45 exam on Advanced Water Technologies. His students are going to riot outside his room and pitch his head on a stick. Advanced Water Tech was a complicated mix of calculus and physics and while it was easy enough for someone like Mark to teach, it was hell to learn. Quickly, he slapped on a red polo shirt, some jeans, and—almost forgetting to take his book bag which contained all of the exam sheets he printed off last night—he rushed off to work.

Normally, since the university was a stone’s throw, it was pointless to take his car, and walking was always healthier anyway. That habit of his of walking to work worked against him, as he only realised half-way that he could have taken the car.

He was sweating like mad when he sighted the science hall of his university campus. Looking at his watch, it was obvious that he was already fifteen minutes late. A smile visited his lips as his endorphinated brain supplied him an image of how his students would be right now—probably burning shirts and running about naked—maybe. They were a decent bunch, but for sure they would be freaking out a little bit right now.

His mind was so occupied with his musings that he didn’t notice a person innocently cradling a cup of coffee walking a few feet in front of Mark, unaware of the oncoming human road roller that was about to plow into him in 3…2…

Mark managed to brace himself for the impact with the ground with his hands, his on-and-off gym regimen somehow paying off. But the poor person he crashed into was knocked straight into the pavement, knocking off his glasses and his coffee, which rolled off into a bit of a distance, spilling all over the place. A string of curses began to float from the figure below him.

“Dude, could you fuckin’ mind where yer fucking going?!” The man—who had an adorable tuft of green hair escaping his grey hat, Mark noted— screamed in an accent he simply couldn’t place. Embarrassed, they both scrambled up from off the ground, dusting off the dirt from their clothing. Piercing eyes of ice stared up at Mark, who simply stood dumbfounded at the mess he found himself in. The coffee had managed to soak the front of the man’s grey sweater, and from the grimace in his face, hot coffee was not a pleasant morning experience.

The moment he realised he was staring, Mark began to apologise profusely to the man, dropping his book bag to retrieve a packet of tissues from one of the pockets. He offered it to the man who glumly accepted it.

“This is has got to be the worst fuckin’ day in a while.” He muttered as he dabbed the spilled beverage from his woolen sweater.

“I’m really sorry! It was my fault, I wasn’t looking where I was going, and there was just too much in my head and I was really rushing off to work today because I overslept and the stupid thing was that I had a car but I didn’t take the care cause I was being such a dumb, and I am just really sorry that I knocked you over—“ Mark had to mentally stop himself from the verbal rapid fire he was doing to the poor man who looked at him in confusion and in disbelief.

A tight, palpable silence wrapped itself around the two men, who looked at each other awkwardly, with nothing else to say. Just as Mark was about to excuse himself, he heard a small sound—quiet enough that had the situation not been that silent, he would have never noticed it. A small chuckle shook the shoulders of the man, which after a while grew into an honest, clear rolling laugh. It shocked Mark, to say the least, but when he realising how ridiculous he must have been earlier, he began to laugh as well.

“Yes yes, I am prone to verbal diarrhea when I’m in awkward situations.” Mark managed to gasp out between laughter. The man was still chuckling lightly. At least the situation was diffused and was no longer tense. He made the cute stranger laugh, which was definitely a bonus. Making people laugh was Mark’s specialty after all. However, there was a strange feeling in his gut that was telling him that there was something about this guy—this strangely attractive man with that he was somehow familiar looking; as if he had seen him before…somewhere, somehow.

Pushing the thought out of his mind, he focused on the issue at hand, mainly the coffee cup that had now stopped rolling, and was instead emptying its contents slowly on to the side walk.

“Uhm hey, let me make it up to you with that coffee.” Mark offered the man with the cute accent, who just raised his eyebrows in response.

“I-I don’t say that to be creepy and shit, I just want to buy you a replacement for the one I stupidly knocked over. I mean, it is suspicious as all hell, but it's the very least I could do, and oh, did you want to go shower? At the university, we have showers now, which is weird cause we can't even afford proper air conditioning in this fucking heat...” Mark was rambling again, but he had to clarify—even though the man was admittedly attractive, Mark was not the type to hit on random people on the streets. That was just weird.

"No, I'm good...my hotel is just a few walks down the street." The man looked him over and seemed to think about the offer. His eyes scanned Mark’s face for sincerity and after a while, he pulled out a wad of grocery bills and wrote an address on one of them.

“That’s my favourite coffee shop in this place so far. Maybe we could meet there at around five in the afternoon?”

“Sure, I’ll drop by.” Mark couldn’t help himself. The man began to chuckle again.

 


	2. Lightning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was like the entire school watched him fuck up. Also featuring: nosey best friends.

Nothing was on fire when Mark got to class, a full half an hour later than he was supposed to. In fact, everything seemed perfectly fine. The students were chatting animatedly with one another when he ran in and shoved his bag on to the teacher’s table.

“Now, guys I am so, so sorry that I’m late. I woke up far too damn late cause of my stupid alarm clock not working like an alarm clock should, and ran all the way here cause I was such a stupid and then while I was running I got into this accident with this cute guy and oh my god your exams, you guys will be given extra time-” The physics professor blathered on, emptying his bag of the test exams and other necessary papers that he will need to distribute to his students. In his whirlwind of motion and speech, he let slip one teensy tiny four letter word in his haste, and his students—his sleep-deprived, exam-induced-mentally-instable students—caught on to it.

“Hang on, sir! Did you say cute?!” Maribelle, one of his more loud and talkative students suddenly piped up, breaking off from her conversation with her group of friends. When she said that terrible, terrible four letter word, the entire room turned, in a massive sweeping effect, towards the frazzled physics teacher.

Mark froze in his tracks, eyes widening in surprise. Crap, did…did he really say that?! “N-no…? I never said that! In fact, you all have no proof!” Alright, so maybe he did let that word loose, but it’s not his fault that the stranger was so fucking cu—.

There it was again, that goddamned word. What is with him today? Until today, he had never found anyone of the same gender to be ‘cute’ even though he knew it in his bones that he was not exactly completely straight. It was still such a shock to him that this person whom he just pinned into the ground and—as he thought more about it—flirted with, in his awkward desperate nervousness, would make such a lasting impression on him that he had such a profound effect on his subconscious.

“ANYWAY! You lot need to settle into your seats now, cause I’m going to hand out all five pages of your test. You know the rules by now, guys. Phones need to be turned off, pens and calculators should be the only things on your desks, plus your student cards and valid i.ds. You all have until 10:45 to finish.” He quickly ordered, the clumsy nervous wreck of a Mark replaced with a stern, no-nonsense voice that he only ever used on his dog when they misbehave. Still, he heard, near the back of the room—either Max or Philipp—scream at the top of their voice.

“SIR! If someone gets a 100% on this exam, you’ll have to come clean!” He could hear the glee in their voice, and to be fair, they sounded confident.

As much as Mark didn’t want to agree, he relented to that offer. It’s better that he had a crux to slap at them when they ask about that event ever again. He smiled devilishly into the room. It's not like they'll be able to get it all right anyway.

“Bring it.”

* * *

 

The rest of the morning was uneventful. His other lectures weren’t as confrontational as his first period since he has had a few hours to calm down enough that the cute stranger with an accent took a backseat in his mind and let other things like teaching and witticisms come to the forefront. Though, he wasn’t really willing to sit in the back for too long. He came up again, during lunch time, as Mark sat on the couch in the teacher’s lounge, eating a sandwich from the cafeteria with his friends and colleagues Bob and Wade, who taught law and social studies—respectively.

“So, I heard a little rumour from one of my students.” Bob started, looking over the rim of his glasses at the physics teacher, hand under his chin, ready to interrogate. Mark knew that pose. He was about to be roasted alive for information. Wade, hearing the topic, leaned in closer to hear absolutely everything.

“Shouldn’t you be teaching them instead of gossiping with them, Bob?” He tried to diffuse the situation by acting nonchalant; as if he hasn’t done anything incriminating to be suspected. His eyes bore into Bob’s to ensure him that he did absolutely nothing, but Bob knew him far better than he thinks.

“My students who were in your physics class this morning said that you met a cute stranger on the way to school today.” Bob began, voice drawling very slowly, savouring the look of nervousness in Mark’s eyes. Wade gleefully looked on, apparently, already informed about this rumour.

“Number one: no, I didn’t. And even if I did, I would never call them cute. That’s just strange and all.” Mark was starting to jitter in his seat. He began to fumble with the paper bag around his sandwich, tearing it to smaller pieces.

“Your actions say otherwise, Mr. Fischbach. You seem guilty of the fact.”

“NO! Besides, you have absolutely no proof! You cannot accuse without proof!” Mark claimed, gait steadier than earlier as he realised that he has finally trapped Bob, that this stupid nonsense with the cute stranger can be put to rest.

Wade, though. Wade came to Bob’s defense, pushing Mark into the proverbial coffin and hammering in the nails himself.

“But Mark. I saw you ram into somebody this morning. It was awesome, like watching a silent movie. It was perfect for class too—we were discussing ethics of social interactions and about diffusing social stigma of strangers.” Wade smiled widely at him, eyes gleaming with mirth and mischief. It was then that Mark realised that he was—figuratively—screwed.

“He was so small, I can’t believe that there was someone much smaller than you Mark!” Wade laugh merrily, but Bob’s eyes were closed, drinking in all the information that Wade was gushing out. You could see things rearranging in his mind. Wade may have nailed him in the coffin, but it was going to be Bob that buries him into the ground.

“How could you even see that? Weren’t you supposed to be in the Sociologies wing? THE OPPOSITE SIDE OF WHERE THAT WAS?”

When Bob shifted a little in his seat and smiled, Mark knew that he was utterly fucked. He just gave something away, didn’t he? He looked at Wade, who was smiling impishly, happy that he had trapped him into saying something that would allow Bob, the **_laws_** teacher, to properly destroy his ass. God, they’re never going to let this go.

“I take it from that disheveled look on your face that you finally understand that you are utterly and completely destroyed? So you might as well face the facts, Mark. I have a witness that just testified against you. You’re guilty, as expected.” Bob smirked, and the accused could only glower in defeat.

“To be fair though, my classroom was moved this morning, since the roster people get confused with the rooms and scheduling during exams week so really, you could call it fate.” Wade happily added, taking so much happiness in the fact he caught Mark—the headstrong, romantically-stubborn man—in such an interesting situation.

“Is it also fate that I have a class in five minutes? Cause I’m pretty sure it is.” Mark quipped, standing from his seat and discarding his trash, almost victorious in the fact that he had revealed absolutely nothing to his ‘captors’. This guy that he just so happened to bump into; why was he such a big deal? Why is it that ever since this morning, he hasn’t really left the physics professor’s attention, and if he did, someone would remind him of the crystal blue eyes that stared at him, emotions of anger flashing through it like electricity, making his spine tingle slightly at the energy, and his cheeks flush in embarrassment. Mark was a grown-ass man. He might get embarrassed when he gets into awkward situations regardless of who it was with, but the burst of energy he felt when those eyes looked into his was restricted only to that one person.

Wonder why.

To the protest of Wade and Bob, who had JUST finally gotten to cornering Mark without escape, the physics teacher left the staff lounge, relieved in his victory over his two best friends and with the green-haired mystery man on the forefront of his attention once again.

It was going to be a long day.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHAHA! This chapter was just practically begging me to be written. SO! Double update in one week! -party popper- Don't get too used to it tho. :/ Kudos let me know you like it and comment tell me how to improve. Thank you guys for reading! This note loves you.


	3. I Like Me Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When I'm with you

Through the dark, dim lighting of the ‘café’—or more commonly known as the Pub by university students, Mark spotted the mystery man from earlier, curled far away from the entrance. His head was bowed, concentrated on something on the table, one of his hands on an almost-empty pint of beer. The muted conversations and the clinking of glass gave a small hum to the homely establishment, accompanied by the soft creak of the wooden floor as Mark crossed the threshold and made his way towards the man, whose eyes bore into the table, mind obviously miles and miles away.  The pub was too quiet for being so close to the university on a Friday, which made it all feel more awkward for Mark to approach the man. His mind fluttered through a variety of scenarios and greetings that he could use, and none of them seem to be appropriate. The man looked up from the table and saw him in front of him, and the physics professor was forced to settle with a simple ‘hello’ and a smile.

“I thought you said this was a café?” Mark joked as he pulled up a chair and sat across the man, hoping to spark some sort of conversation between the two of them. The little jab worked and Mark was rewarded for the effort when the smaller man smiled genuinely, the gesture reaching up into his lightning blue eyes, luminating them in the darkness of the bar.

“It is—in an Irish sort of sense.” The man thankfully joked back, and the teacher could feel his shoulders—which he unconsciously tightened in anticipation—relax somewhat at the quiet chuckle that man produced.

“Hey, you know it just occurred to me that I never asked for your name, I mean—how ridiculous am I to go out drinking with an utter stranger, in the fullest sense of the word.” Mark ran his hand over his fiery red hair, an anxious motion. The other man look at him incredulously, as if surprised by something he had said. The man stared at him with those intense blue eyes, assessing something that is going totally over Mark’s head. Finally, the man sighed and shook his head, as if in disbelief. He smiled at the other man, as if deciding to finally trust him.

“You can call me Jack.” The green-haired man said to Mark, who smiled at the name. Mark offered his hand and gave Jack a proper handshake. The warmth of his hand felt nice against his cold fingers. “Nice to meet you, mystery man. I’m Mark Fischbach—and I teach over at that there yonder university, granted almost limitless power to torment the future of the United States of Friggin America—but you already knew that.”

“God bless. Must be fun being a teacher.” Jack supplied as he took a long gulp of his beer, and Mark grinned widely at him, fondly thinking of his rowdy students.

“Well, in a sort of sense, it is. Teaching a subject that people don’t really get along with is actually a good thing, since people either just hate you or love you. In my case, most love me. It’s like having sixty or so children.”

“You look good for someone with sixty children.” Mark felt himself warm at the compliment. He watched Jack begin to drain his drink but the green-haired man paused mid-way, staring widely into Mark’s eyes. The doe-eyed way he looked over the rim of the glass made the teacher chuckle heartily. Jack seemed to have noticed the slip-of-the-tongue compliment he gave the attractive stranger before him and he began to turn red, which was thankfully not that obvious in the dim lighting of the establishment.

Mark wasn't bad looking. He had that Cali-boy tan that most Irishmen would kill to have, and the unruly dark red hair that seemed to look softer the longer Jack stared at it. The best feature of the man sitting before him had to be his eyes. Soft and coloured like darkened sugar, it was curiously addicting to stare at the man before him. Mark noticed him looking and he smiled.

“Aren’t you going to get a drink?” Jack stammered, hiding his embarrassment as he began to scratch at the wooden table with his pointer finger, the sensation of scratching something oddly soothing him. The physics professor seemingly took no note of his discomfort.

“Any suggestions?” Mark replied, as he grabbed the menu on the side of the table. It contained a list of various liquors and beers on one side, and a large variety of food on the other. Mark glanced at the list. He was hungry, and it’s probably not a good idea to drink on a mostly empty stomach. As he thought of the different dishes he could order, he felt his gaze slip away from the menu and on to the man in front of him—Jack was his name. He was smaller than he thought he was, and much paler than he remembered—but then again, he was in such a frantic frenzy earlier that he could never be been sure. Now that he could properly look at Jack, he saw his intense blue eyes scanning, moving—a little dull, but it must be because of the poor lighting in the bar. His eyes were like cloudy summer skies, sharp blue bright against the light of the sun, clouded a little by darkness. It was too bad that it was too dark for him to appreciate it fully.

Jack must have notice Mark staring because he looked him straight in the eye, silently wondering what in the world he could be thinking of. The red-head hid his face behind the menu before the other man could see his embarrassment. This was awkward beyond belief: two grown men playing hide-go-seek from behind a menu. Mark shook his head.

After a while, The professor flagged down a waiter. The waiter came up to them with the largest fake-smile anyone had ever seen, and took their orders through gritted teeth. Jack hid in the corner and avoided the waiter’s gaze, muttering his order under his breath. When the waiter had left, neither one of the two spoke. The stillness was deafening, and Mark could only stand it for so long.

 “Hey uhm…so, to make this less awkward for the two of us, d’ya mind telling me something about yourself? I-I mean you don’t have to.” The physics professor managed to say, even though he was somehow nervous as all hell. He was not normally like this. He could talk to students and teachers, new or old, without any problem. There was something about this man that made him antsy—in a good way. His stomach kept on erupting in butterflies and there was such a need for Mark to be accepted by him. He had no real reasoning for the feeling, but nonetheless, he welcomed the unfamiliar feeling.

“Well, what do you want to know?” The man in the corner brightened a little, almost too eager to get away from the awkward tension of earlier. He came out of his hiding place in the corner, the alcohol slurring his accent a bit.

“Well, for one, I want to know—like what do you do for work? You know I work in the university. Just wondering what you do.” Mark smiled, the positive response from Jack alleviating some of the butterflies in his stomach.

A look passed over Jack’s face for a brief moment, a look that was a mix of confusion and the smallest pinch of happiness and hope.

“You could say that I work in the film industry.” He replied slowly and quietly, as the waiter from before came back and loaded their table with food and drinks—a steak dinner and Heineken for Mark, and a platter of wedges and wings for Jack, accompanied by a Guinness. The green-haired man took a sip of the dark beer, relishing the hints of coffee and chocolate that he could taste in it.

“Like a producer of sorts?”

“Of sorts.”

Mark was amazed, I mean it’s not every day you meet a film producer, and a cute one at that. He watched the other man ditch the cutleries and eat with his fingers, slender digits hungrily dipped the fries in mayonnaise and devoured them in bunches.

“Mmm, speaking of.” Jack managed to mumble over chewing. “What sort of films do you like?” He said it so flawlessly that Mark should have never noticed the detraction from the earlier topic, but he let it slide. Work was a boring mealtime conversation anyway.

Mark then launched into a speech about the aesthetics that made Deadpool an amazing movie, which made Jack smile brighter than he had the entire evening. Jack could only agree, and they spent time rehashing the best parts of the film, arguing over which one was more valid and enjoyable than the other. The two of them laughed, drinking and talking as if they had been good friends their entire life. The talk shifted from films to video games, which Mark found out that Jack was particularly fond of. They talked about the latest games, and both discovered that they both have a genuine love of playing video games. They talked about their favourites, the best they’ve played, the worst. It was during their discussion about Earthbound and Undertale that Mark, being the self-described, slightly tipsy doof that he was, spilled half a pint of pale ale on to Jack’s pants. Jack, being somewhat drunk, laughed at his friend’s clumsiness.

“Ohmmmmgod, you made me wet again.” The two of them shared a chuckle at the sexual joke as Mark dabbed tissues on the other man’s pants.

“Y’know, m’ apartment is just round the corner. You could shower and get changed there and stuff.” Mark offered, only remembering that his new friend had a hotel room somewhere close by.

Surprisingly, Jack agreed. “Mmm, yeah. That’d be cool. Plus, you kept on bragging about your stupid pc. I might as well see it.”

Mark paid for the dinner for the both of them; even though Jack protested that he only really owed him a drink. The brisk cold air of the evening greeted them after hours of being in the warm environ of the pub. They continued talking and chuckling about video games, voices echoing into an almost empty neighbourhood. After a while, they sighted Mark’s apartment, which was an attached townhouse near the edge of the campus. A small garden of flowers in the front greeted them, and Mark, maybe unconsciously or drunkenly, said goodnight to the poster across his house. Jack laughed at his adorable silliness.

As Mark dug for his keys in his pockets, he said something that made Jack’s heart jump to his throat.

 “You know, I’m glad I ended up staying. I was only planning on buying you a drink and going, but I’m glad to have met you, Jack.”

Jack, shocked but happy, glowed at the words.

“I’m really glad you stayed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAA. I fully intended this to be up three days ago, but the 'n' on my keyboard died. Non-responsive as a fish found on land. Ad we all kow how importat the letter really is. :,) I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it.


	4. Naive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's bury my doubts under my heartbeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No man, totally not late. (chuckles nervously) errr, yes. :)))) It's 4am. Am supposed to get up in like, 2 hours, but this chapter-difficult to start, difficult to stop writing. But sleep is a must, yesyesyes.

They entered the hallway of the teacher’s house after Mark’s fight with the side-stepping house keys that swung and jangled wildly, jeering merrily at Mark’s attempts to fit them into the proper slots. The house was warm against the frost of the outside, the early autumn nights blowing promises of winter in the air. Mark bent down and removed his shoes, and Jack mirrored the man, not wanting to seem rude if he kept his shoes on and walked in. The hallway, a barrier against the cold of the outside, was dim-lit, warm and smelled like the echoing note of salt and freshly baked bread like hot pockets and pepperoni—a definite ‘bachelor’s pad’ smell.  Encased in the warmth, Jack felt the coldness in his body leave immediately and replaced by a feeling akin only to someone wrapping him tightly in the softest blankets. He felt at home.

When they turned a corner and Jack sighted an open door, they heard sudden eruptions of giggling and loud laughter, echoing all over the house. The teacher turned to his companion and smiled.

“Oh, that’s just my housemates. They’re mostly harmless, so don’t worry.” Mark beamed as he led Jack in to the living room, the only way into any of the rooms in the house. It would seem inevitable that Jack met the guy’s housemates. The thought of being recognised made him feel very uneasy, shivers running through his skin as he profusely prayed in his heart that they-especially Mark, do not recognise him. He has been betrayed and played false far too much and far too often by plastic hearts that realise his fame is key, though really at this point, he was more infamous than anything; just check Youtube and Facebook, his latest-and probably biggest scandal--just splattered on thousands of cyber walls for the world to judge him with, like an ugly stain that really should have been hidden under the protection of cheery furnitures. He tugs at the hem of his sweater. Under cheery furnitures it goes.

He lifted his eyes and followed his friend into the living room, his body ending flush against Mark's back, who had suddenly stopped. Curious as to why the man had stopped, Jack began to tilt his head from behind Mark's back, just so he could see what was going on. Unexpectedly, he felt Mark turn towards him and suddenly, his world was darkened, lighted only with slits of light coming from the gaps between fingers. His eyes fluttered close against the dark warmth of the other man's hands over them. 

He heard Mark yell at his housemates, lecturing them about decency and the like-he wasn't really paying attention. Jack felt his breath hitch at the sudden contact, a flush coming on to his features like a fever. He has never felt such gentle hands in existence, calloused by years of holding a pen the wrong way, yet still unimaginably soft. He felt an overwhelming sensation of safety, a feeling he hasn’t felt in a very long while, spreading all over his arms and stomach, lighting a small fire in his heart. It felt so disgustingly ironic to him that the safest he felt in months was while an almost-complete stranger held his sight hostage from the world. That's some fifty-cent harlequin novel stuff there.

“What in fuckery are you two doing?! I-like…what the…?! Jesus fucking Christ, what—just get decent, Matt.” Jack heard Mark stammer, likely in embarassment. He felt the man move his head a little, as if shaking it lightly. From beyond Mark, there was more guffawing and snorting from the two other voices in the room, which Jack identified to be both males. He couldn't hear the words through their blabbering laughter, so he resigned himself in appreciating Mark's warm hands. 

“It’s just a prank brooooooo…” A voice screamed out as it faded out in to the distance, accompanied by the pitter-patter of feet; probably from that Matt person rushing away to be decent. Another voice laughed hard, to the point that after a while, he started coughing wildly; which by the sounds of it, seemed to have made the voice laugh harder. Jack heard Mark swear one more time and his vision was given back to him, a rush of cold air where the gentle heat used to be. The smaller man couldn’t help but sigh at the loss of contact, which went unheard by the red-haired man, who looked wide-eyed and flabbergasted at a tanned broad-chested guy, curled in on himself on the floor, in pain, quickly gasping in the air that a secret joke seemed to have stolen from him. The only clues to his humour-induced episode were the numerous scattered Amiibos on the living room table and a softly glowing television, a video game paused on-screen.

“Right. Ryan, start explaining.” Mark demanded, exasperated as he tried to help the man on the floor up from his fetal position, but something in the way the teacher said it made the man chortle harder. The man continued to writhe on the floor in glee, clutching his stomach for some relief. Mark gave up trying to help him after a few seconds, and re-diverted his attention to his guest, who tried hard not too look confused at the situation. 

“Uhm. Yeah, I don’t know either—OH! By the way, this is Ryan.” Mark scratched the back of his head as he motioned towards his friend who was gasping for air quite greedily on the floor, an embarrassed, boyish smile stretching across his lips. Jack smiled; an easy gesture in the dim light of a room filled with helpless laughter. The only thing that made it difficult to stay in the moment was the uncomfortable sensation caused by the unholy matrimony of his pants and Mark’s beer.

“Erm, Mark…? If ya don’ mind? Maybe I can rinse off the beer?” Jack simply had to ask, as the sensation got to more unbearable levels. Mark seemed to have snapped out of the momentary daze that he was in and remembered the ruin that was Jack’s trousers that he had so clumsily caused. In an instant, he began to walk all over the place, jabbering about towels and soap and ‘oh, the shower takes a while to heat up’ sort of blabber that Jack felt his smile widen much more.

Flustered Mark was beyond adorable.

After digging for a new towel and an extra pair of clothes, the red-haired man clambered up the stairs and lead his companion into his bathroom—since his still-unintroduced friend was still using the one downstairs to change. Mark pointed out the how-to’s of his shower and where the toiletries are. After handing a towel to his new found friend, he left him to his own devices while he sorted out this…housemate surprise.

Goddamn it all, he should probably have set some ground rules--like no nudity in common areas.

When he re-entered the living room of terrors, head full of various reprimands for the two, he found his housemates in a huddle, whispering with each other on the couch, poring over something in Ryan’s hands. Matt, the taller, lankier boy had dressed and was sitting next to him, pointing at the thing in the other man’s hands, snippets of ‘no, dude’ and ‘seriously, it must be’, escaping from their hushed conference. The boys noticed Mark and agitatedly gestured for him to come over, evidently bewildered.

When the professor came closer to his house mates, he noticed that they were holding a DVD box, fairly dated from about five to six years ago. It was a rom-com movie that his mom had given him as a Christmas gift; about a bookshop owner meeting a very well-known actress in a quiet little European town somewhere. Matt and Ryan handed him the DVD and told him repeatedly to look at the box cover. He focused on the box art and for a while nothing came to him. There were two figures on the cover, but the face of the actress was huge on it, large like the movie poster outside his home. That made it much more difficult to find what he was looking for—especially when he didn’t even know what to look at. However, as the fingers began to tire of repeatedly jabbing at the cover, and screams of ‘oooHHMMMMGOD HOW CAN YOU NOT SEE IT?!’ taxing his ears and his mental state, something clicked in his head.

At first it was subtle—the box art was small and details were difficult to make out, especially for older movies like this one, but the more he looked at the actor off to the side of the giant female face, the more he was felt a weird sense of familiarity with him. He had seen those sharp ice eyes, muted by the poor printing job in the DVD cover. They were so familiar, yet he simply couldn’t place when or where he had seen it. Mark looked over to his housemates, who nodded to him; as if agreeing with whatever was in the man’s mind, but his head was empty, still trying to grasp at that unreachable feeling of familiarity. He bit his lip in thought while Ryan and Matt howled in frustration at Mark’s slow realisation.

It hit the professor like a freight-truck derailing right into his head, the squeal of engines set to the sounds of Jack’s footsteps bounding down the stairs, in the spare clothes that Mark lent him. Then, he finally found the owner of the sapphire eyes in the box cover; the very same eyes that scowled at him in the morning light; the very same pair that twinkled in the darkness of the bar. The very same ones looking right at him, right fuCKING NOW.

Dear gods. It’s him. It’s Jack. It’s Jack fucking Graw; international celebrity with a dozen of movies under his belt; Jack motherfucking Graw from the rom-com his mom sent him. Hollywood’s darling, that Jack Graw. Jack Graw that he spilled his coffee on. JACK GODDAMNED GRAW THAT WAS IN HIS HOUSE RIGHT AT THIS MOMENT!

“Holy shit.” was all Mark could say, his jaw slack in disbelief.

“Holy shit is right, Mark. Jesus, it’s not every day you bring home a celeb. Christ.”

The man of the hour, fresh from the shower, saw their bewildered gazes and immediately understood. He had seen that sort of expressions before, plastered all over plastic hearts that adored him at his prime, and left him at his worst. He felt himself deflate. The tirade was over, it seemed. Mark was staring at him dumbfounded, and his friends were doing a fantastic impression of a stunned goldfish, frozen in the water, eyes just about ready to pop out.

Jack found that he could do nothing else but give his audience a brittle smile. 

It was about time that the actor took to stage anyway. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) also, s/o to Sashasanidea, for figuring out my muse. The cover art for the DVD/posters for the movie was the one used in the ficcy. 
> 
> And it was all cause of the spilled coffee. 
> 
> Fake last name, yesyes. Hides identity, yes yes.
> 
> Also! AM SORRY FOR CHANGING THE TITLE AGAIN! I really don't like this one and thought of a better one, soes. :)


	5. Lucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perfect smile, it's you they're all waiting for.

**_Chapter 5- Scene 1: In Mark’s House_ **

_Enter Jack from stage left, towel in his hand as he dried his hair._

* * *

 Mark watched Jack’s figure come from the shadows, roughly drying his hair with a towel and a soft smile on his lips. Good, he looked unaware of the situation. As he came into the light, Mark’s eyes fell on the alleged actor’s features and he compared them to the figure on the box cover. It was the same eyes, the same smile--but there was something off about it. The man in the cover definitely resembled him, down to the intense hue of his eyes; but there was this unshakeable feeling of difference between the two--as if the person smiling on the cover was not the same person smiling at him as he walked over, obviously oblivious of their confusing discovery. He wanted to ask Jack about it, but his roommates beat him to it.

"Are you Jack Graw?" Matt spoke bluntly first, the tall, lanky man closing the distance between him and their guest.

“What the heck are you talking about?” Jack smiled dumbly, eyebrows knitted in disbelief and confusion. Mark moved to show him the DVD cover—oh those eyes really do look like that actor’s. So bright and so blue, it was beyond unmistakable, and yet as he watched his newfound friend struggle to understand, he couldn’t be certain at all. There was nothing on Jack’s face except for confusion.

“I’m not really seeing what you’re going on about…” He looked over the others, gesturing for them to explain it to him, but they were all still dumb-founded by their discovery. A split second later, his expression changed from a confused, uncertain grin into a wide smile. This got their attention.

“That’s a pretty compliment, fellas, but there’s no resemblance.” He chuckled, fingers tapping his look-a-like’s image.

“I don’t nearly make as much as he does.” The green-haired man laughed heartily, absolutely tickled at what apparently was a compliment for him. Mark, recovering from his frozen, shocked state, began to laugh as well.

“Yeah, it is kinda silly,” Mark admitted sheepishly. “I mean, what are the chances of me bumping into a huge star in the middle of fuck-all nowhere and spilling his coffee—I mean that’s just ridiculous, right? I mean, Hollywood people have schedules and things…so yeah.”

At this point, Jack was laughing so hard, he started to wheeze.

“Jeez, guys. Thanks for the compliment, though.” He managed to choke out between bursts of laughter, the sound ringing across the house. Mark, for the little amount of time he had known Jack, loved that laugh. It was such an honest laughter, full of hissy, breathy chuckles, and rolling clear peals. It was a beautiful sound, and all he could think of was how to make this man laugh. He felt happy making people laugh; it was what he is at the core of his being. He loved laughter, but he especially loved Jack’s laughter.

“Yeah, you’re probably right though.” Matt muttered, dejected. He was so sure, but it seemed like he was wrong. He really did look like that person, he really, really did. The body posture, the face structure—heck you could say everything could have been just sheer luck, but there was no mistaking those eyes.

 “But this is you.” Ryan urged him to look again, tapping the front of the DVD case as if to drive home his point.

“No, it…really isn’t.” Jack smiled, uncomfortably now, eyes wandering between Matt and Ryan, trying to figure out how to convince them.

“Like, I mean you can say that the body structure, or the face or whatever—that it was different, but I mean, look at that hair, it’s the exact same fucking style, just green.” The shorter man asserted, obviously worked up about this. “And if that’s not enough, those eyes—“

“I’ve never seen such blue eyes in my entire existence.” Matt continued the other man’s sentence, eyeing the DVD box, still trying to find something that would tie this person down to his truth. Some evidence—a bruise, a birthmark—something that would be a solid enough proof that he was right. In the end, all he had were those warm ice-blue eyes.

“Then you must not go out often then.” Jack joked, and Matt was dispelled from his internally-cause delirium and smiled at the stranger-Mark-brought-home’s joke. Ryan was having none of it though.  

“Hey, did you guys hear about this guy a year ago though?” He piped up as he seemed to suddenly remember something about the actor. For a split second, a shadow fell on Jack’s face before returning back to its original interested smile, and only Ryan managed to catch it. He felt himself smile in triumph.

This was all a set-up anyway.

“I heard the actor got fucked up ‘cause of some rape allegations by some dumb crazy Jersey-Shore-esque actress—I think her name was like Jennifer or some posh shit like that.” He continued to chatter, eyes gleaming brightly as they watched Jack intently. He just needs to see one more slip, one more little crack—he knew he was right, so why not prove it then?

“Oh yeah, didn’t that like, cause a wave of shitposts and memes? Jesus, it hurts to think about it.” Matt added, visibly cringing at remembering the media storm that followed in the wake of that revelation. It caused such a widespread online phenomena of fans and critics alike bullying the actor into obscurity, that there were literally cartoons and parodies of it. It was awful. It was like watching the evil rise out of people; and what of the actor? No one had seen him on anything these past two years. It was like he just vanished, never to be heard from again.

“The worst thing is that he wasn’t even guilty of anything. He didn’t even do it. That awful Janna or whatever person was lying about the entire thing.”

“And no one knew why, right?” Ryan was stunned when he heard Jack speak up in a small, crackling voice.  There it was; an open admission of guilt, or so he believed anyway. Anyone who’s not Jack Graw won’t feel shit about this topic. It had to be him. It’s obvious.

“She was jealous,” Jack continued, hands firmly clasped in front of him. “because he wouldn’t date her.”

“And…how would you know that?” Mark asked, finally having caught up with the situation, apparently coming to the same point as roommate had.

“I was the producer for his show. I was there when it happened.” Jack admitted, his smile distorting into something that was more of an uncomfortable grimace. Ryan had him.

“No, you know because you’re Jack Graw. You’re him.” The man insisted loudly, adamant in his version of the truth. Jack however, was more persistent.

“No, really. I was the producer for his last show. Managed it for an entire season before it went under.” The Irish man maintained, even going so far as to rifle for his cell phone to look for an episode credit of the show. He ended up pulling a page from about TV dramas and there it was. A name. Executive Producer Jack Flanagan.

His name.

“No way man, really?” Ryan felt himself totally deflate, his initial burst of energy dying. He groaned and buried his face in his hands, his case crumbling before his eyes. “Damn it, I was so sure too…”

“Sorry, I’m just really touchy on that subject cause it was one of my last works. Kinda depressing, really.” Jack lowered his eyes to trace the swirls on the carpet, trying hard not to think of that day at all.

“Oh, hey man. I’m sorry.” Ryan apologised meekly, a hand on the producer’s shoulders, face warping from intense embarrassment into concern. “I didn’t mean to make you depressed.”

Jack shook his head as if to rid himself of bad thoughts. His smile was back, but Mark could tell there was something off about it. This thing about that actor must have upset him more than he let on.

“Oh, hey now, I invited you here ‘cause—well, we were both drunk and you wanted to see my computer set up, so why don’t we…head off to my room and I’ll show you my amazing baby.” The teacher smiled as he desperately changed the subject, inching towards the stairs in an effort to diffuse this potentially terrible end to a wonderful evening.

“Wow, definitely! Lead the way!” His new friend’s face lit up, that fake smile on his face gone. Mark couldn’t help but feel his own smile grow; it was a terrific feeling, making people smile. It gave him such energy that he began to bound up the stairs, two at a time.

Now that his nosey housemates had all settled down to do something else, he had time to finally think. He remembered that Jack Graw fiasco. It wasn’t that Mark actively followed that kind of thing, but he remembered watching the news for multiple days and it was all that media could show: pictures and testaments, and eyewitness accounts of god-knows what. It was a terrible thing to do to such a young, promising actor, all for the sake of manipulating him into loving someone he doesn’t. It was terrible, and the world crucified him for it. It was a great injustice to those that were actually taken advantage of sexually, and a great unfairness for the true victim of that mess. Sure, in the end, everyone apologised, but what for? The damage had been done. The actor vanished.

But there was no way that this man chattering behind him could be Jack Graw. It was just impossible. Here behind him was a bright man with the face of an angel—he could really light up the room with his laugh. His smile, his gestures—those weren’t that of a broken man with a severe trust issue  Jack was, as far as he could tell, an adorable shy guy with a love of video games and cosy pubs; a man made of puns and drunken screaming, of sincere conversation and rude jokes. His Jack was a man of sunshine and that poor, poor actor was probably beyond broken at this point, jaded by everyone betraying him.

There was no way in seven hells his Jack was Jack Graw.

No way.

* * *

  _End Scene_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He took to the stage and performed well. What did you guys think? Also, apologies for the long-ass hiatus. Absolutely ridiculous.


	6. Iris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'd give up forever to touch you

People could be described to be like their rooms. Perfectionists have organised rooms. Artists have creative bursts that leave messes in their wake. Mark’s room was just as Jack expected it. Clean, but on the messy side of things—organised chaos; just like him. The bed was dishevelled, the sheets thrown down to the bottom of the bed, pillows in disarray. Books were on the floor instead of the shelf, towering nearly to his hip in the amount of them. The shelves were littered with game merch—little figurines, special-edition game boxes, and other sorts of nerdy things. It was so homey and inviting, like he could spend days holed up in this room and never want to come out, much unlike his own, empty home.

“Oh god, I’m sorry for the mess.” Mark quickly darted across the room and bunched up a forlorn underwear that was left on the floor and tossed it into his laundry basket. Made aware by his dirty underwear, the man continued to clear out his room; tossing his blankets back on to the bed and trash into the bin. When he deemed it acceptable, he gave a sigh and nodded his head to Jack, who accepted his silent invitation and left his place by the door frame.

“It’s no problem, you know. I’ve seen plenty of men’s underwear.” Jack assured him, as his eyes took in every inch of the room, smiling at the feeling of ease he felt—as if he had finally come home.

“This is my lady.” He heard Mark mutter as his head ducked under the study table in the corner of the room. After a few seconds, lights came from the CPU, followed by the monitor booting up. A great humming noise began to vibrate in the air. It was like a woodpecker repeatedly beating on a tree trunk.

“Geez Mark, how old is she?” Jack exclaimed; remarking at the dust coating the large fan on the side of the CPU. “I thought you said she was perfect!”

“She is. Don’t worry. She performs like a new model.” The professor assured Jack, who looked incredulously at him and the still-booting screen that has been trying to start up for the past five or so minutes.

“Mark, she’s dying.”

“Well, I mean, she’s great to play low-requirement games on.” Mark defended his computer, the monitor still in the boot-up loading screen. Jack was buying none of it, and the teacher could see it.

“…’m a f…hy…console…pe..nt.” Jack heard the man mutter something under his breath.

“What?”

“I said, my computer is garbage. My laptop can run better games.” Mark said, exasperated, looking quite distressed.

“The truth is…” He looked Jack square in the eyes, and the Irish man could have sworn that he felt his heart jump in surprise.

“I’m a console peasant.” The man hung his head in mock shame, wiping a few imaginary tears from his eyes. “I don’t deserve to stand in your presence.”

Jack laughed hard, harder than he could ever remember. He only stopped to gulp in air greedily, and even after then, he kept laughing.

“Dear god, you trying to kill me?” The green-haired man gasped out, wheezing slightly as his laughing fit came to an end. The brown-eyed teacher smirked at him.

“Why, do you have life insurance?”

Chuckling, Jack wiped away the tears from his eyes from laughing too hard. Being with his new-found friend felt good. It made his heart burst with happiness, which was a rare treat considering his heart was always hurting. He made his mind shut up for once, and his heart to stop crying so much. He made his heart beat again, and all at once, he was drowning in emotion. Happiness, yearning, desire; it was euphoria to feel something else other than sadness and pain.

It felt so good to be with Mark.

“Hey, do you play?” The Irish man’s eyes wandered from the (still-booting) computer, on to a slender acoustic guitar. Soft mahogany in colour, and standing lonesome in a corner, Jack picked it up from its stand and marvelled at the smooth glossiness of the wood, and the feel of the taut strings under his fingers. Little did he know, Mark came from behind him and took his hand. He formed a chord with his partner’s fingers, marvelling at how ivory-like his skin was: smooth and faultless. He tilted his head to smile at Jack, who was trying his hardest not to be too flustered by the contact. Mark took his student’s other hand and placed it within his own, forming it into shape. Gently, he strummed their hands across the strings, producing music that neither of them could hear through the growing heat between their fingers. Jack, entranced by Mark, savoured the warmth around his shoulders, around his hands. It felt so good to be held, even by an almost-stranger. He was never tall, but Jack felt so small in Mark’s arms. He felt safe, and the warmth there assured him that none of this was a dream.

The moment could only last for so long, however, as Matt and Ryan barrel through the room unannounced, eliciting quick evasive methods from the two. They separated so fast, Jack felt a chill crawl at the sudden loss of heat. The guitar was tossed to the bed, and the two pretended to be waiting for the computer to start. Neither of the door crashers believed it one bit. Mark, miffed at the lack of privacy from his house mates, looked on at the two with dead eyes.

“Alright, what are you two doing now?”

“Well--” Matt started to explain, only to be interrupted by his friend Ryan, who seemed drunk, or at least tipsy at the time. “We should play Drunk Mario Kart together.” The man slurred in a monotonous voice. There was no emotion in his eyes. He was dead serious, in fact, Mark could swear he had never seen him as serious as he was now. Over goddamned Mario Kart.

“Winner gets money pool. If you enter, you throw down a 10.”

“Oh for crying out loud,” Mark objected, clearly not happy with the interruption. “We are not gambling in this house.” His house mates were too much sometimes. They’re a bunch of content creators for the internet; rising sensations for an ever-growing pool of people. He had seen them do some fairly weird shit for content, and this is definitely not the weirdest one of them. He just doesn’t trust them when they’re drunk. No matter what way he looked at it, it was a simple request for alcohol and physics-defying racing game with friends, both of which sound good individually, but Mark was a terrible loser, and an awful drunk to boot. This thing reeked of plotting against him, he just knew it and he was having none of that. Not in front of his new friend, not this soon.

His friend, however, had other ideas.

“Make the pool 20, you pussies.” Jack challenged them, a devilish smirk gracing his usual angelic figures. There was a fire burning in his blue eyes.  It was terrifying, and strangely attractive at the same time.

“10s are for if you’re fighting little children, Ryan.” His guest challenged again, earning him trash talk from the drunken man.

 _Hoo, boy. It’s gonna be a long night, isn’t it?_ Mark thought as he exited his room to follow the other three bounding towards the living room.

A quick round of Mario Kart and drinks with friends…how bad could it be?

 

* * *

 

 

Around Jack the world was dark save for the soft glow of the television screen, asking players to choose their characters for the upcoming race; except most of the players were already asleep. Ryan was lying face down on the carpeted floor, his head on a pillow he had dragged down from his room earlier. Matt was the only one sensible enough not to get piss-drunk enough that he couldn’t go up stairs. He retired to his room after his friend Ryan had fallen asleep, feeling a little lighter; both from throwing up and losing $40 to their guest.

Mark was gently snoring on Jack’s knee, his head on his lap. Jack gazed at the figure on him, features dimly lit by the television screen and the bright moonlight that streamed though the windows. Mark got drunk so fast. He had rage-quitted half-way through the third cup and resigned himself to sipping rum and cola on the couch, watching the other three drink like long-time friends. Since he wasn’t gaming for the majority of the evening, he ended up drinking the most alcohol and was pronounced dead to the world by the fifth glass.

In the quiet of the evening, Jack could think. Most of the time, his mind tormented him with painful words and memories. There were nights when he couldn’t sleep at all because of it. Prescription pills, therapy… nothing helped against it. He remembered sitting on the sofa of his flat, drinking the cheapest bottle of whiskey he could find at 4 am in the morning, trying to drown out the whispering sadness in his ears with liquid comfort. The burn of the whiskey was what warmed him during those lonely nights. It chased away nightmares and replaced them with empty dreams. That was all before Mark.

With Mark, all he needed was one touch. One touch would spark him, light him up and engulf him in secret pleasure. He liked this man, he liked him quite a bit. They met under strange circumstances, but in his heart of hearts, he knew that that clumsy oaf of a professor that knocked over his spiked morning coffee would have an impact on his life. It was a feeling he had when their eyes first met. It was beyond elating. It was like finding something he hasn’t been looking for, but needed very badly. Serendipity. He learned to never trust a smile, but when this man in his arms does, he couldn’t help but be shocked at its honesty. He was beautiful in the moonlight. His skin was smooth still by age, but the rugged edges of his jaw felt rough against his fingertips, especially his five-o’clock shadow of a beard. These new touches set a fire in his heart in the sheer danger of it.

He wasn’t supposed to feel this way for other men. It never occurred to him that love came in different forms for him. He always found women attractive in his youth. He was straight, or at least he thought. He never looked at other men the way he did his Sleeping American. He never felt the electricity in accidentally brushing up against them, or longing when their heat left him. He never felt these secret urges to hold them, to caress them, to love them.

He was taught that women go with men and that men were to fall in love, get married and grow old with their woman. He thought he was going to find a wife one day, settle down in the countryside, in a small farm, where he could live out the rest of his days in blissful marital happiness, but from when he met Mark, that image of the perfect woman was wiped from his mind. Instead, it was Mark that he saw in his fantasies. It was Mark that he wanted to grow old with.

Mark is a man.

He was a beautiful man, with soft hair, kind eyes and laughter. Mark was what his heart wanted. Within the space of the day, the man made him fall for him. He fell for his charms, his good looks, his warmth and his laughter. Mark was everything he needed, and his heart wasted no time letting his mind know.

Sighing, he stroked the other man’s hair, gently enough that he wouldn’t wake from it.

Mark was a man. He was a man.

Was this alright? Was it fine to fall in love with someone he just met—of the same sex as well? Think of all the repercussions. He doesn’t care much for his reputation; that’s already been ruined ages ago. But Mark, he’s a professor at a respected university. He had students looking up to him, and colleagues relying on him. He could be ridiculed for loving a man, lose the respect of his peers and students—essentially end up like Jack: exiled by the world for something he can’t help. That’s even implying that Mark even remotely returned his feelings. It hadn’t even been a day since they met each other. Who was he to expect everyone to be as foolish in love as he was? There was nothing to like anyway. He was a washed-up actor with a difficult past that he hasn’t even come to terms with. How could anyone love someone as broken as he was?

Mark stirring disturbed him from his thoughts. The sleeping man mutters something into his leg before returning to quiet slumber, making Jack chuckle softly at the heat of his mouth. He squeezed behind Mark to lie down, his arms around the man he liked. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but sleep came to him quickly. For once, he didn’t need his pills to sleep.

All he needed was Mark.


	7. Bubbly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just take your time now

Mark was shocked awake by the chill of the early morning on his damp skin. The gentle brightness of dawn made him blink his eyes at the soft light. The skies were speckled by beautiful spattering of oranges, purples and pink on the brightening horizon. Light filtered through open windows and there was a sleepy silence that enveloped the room like a comforting blanket. As beautiful mornings were, it was lost to the tired man, who rubbed his bleary, tired eyes in the sunlight. His slightly-hungover head was begging for more sleep, and since it was the weekend, it was a request he gladly accepted. Readjusting himself to a more-comfortable position, he tried to turn away from the light, but something stopped him from rolling over as it held on to him fiercely. Snapping awake, his eyes darted to the obstacle and he was stunned to find Jack asleep on his chest, entangled in their blankets and clutching his shirt as if it were a lifeline.

He jolted out of the couch, looking bewilderedly at the Irish man who was rubbing his eyes, rudely awakened. Mark was astonished; how did it end up like this? He was an awful host, passing out before he even saw his guest to bed. At least now he knew that his magic number of vodka was seven shots. The thought of alcohol made his empty stomach pinch in pain, but there was no worse feeling than waking up with a spotty memory.

Most of the time, it was fine to get blackout drunk. He always woke up somewhere in his house; be it in bed, on the couch or inside the tub. Since he had nobody to worry about, he could happily pass out wherever, whenever. Now, waking up next to a bleary-eyed, slightly pissed-off looking man had him reeling, trying hard to remember what happened last night. What sort of nonsense landed him next to his handsome guest? Jack could have slept in his room, in the tub, or maybe dump Mark on the kitchen counter to free the couch, but still the man chose to sleep next to him, in his tiny two-man couch.

Perhaps most disturbing to Mark was how much he didn’t really mind Jack sleeping next to him. He couldn’t remember much about the evening, but his body remembered warmth on his chest and it filled his heart with an unknown emotion he couldn’t recognise. It was feelings of awe mixed with hints of discomfort and confusion that drove his mind wild, filling it with questions he didn’t know the answers to.

“Mm, good morning.” Jack yawned into his hand, adjusting his eyes to the sunlight before he also pulled away rather quickly.

The two of them stared at each other for a silent minute, each avoiding the other’s eyes. A thunderstorm of questions brewed in Mark’s head, none of which he was willing to find the answer to. The comfortable silence of earlier became suffocating. Jack broke through the awkward atmosphere first.

“Nothing bad happened, if that was what you were wondering.” He offered, an uncomfortable ghost of a grin on his face. Mark frowned, internally smacking himself on the head. It was never his intention to make him feel troubled. He was his guest after all. Jack probably didn’t feel comfortable enough to wake up Mark or ask his roommates to sleep in his room. He was an awful host, and an even worse friend for waking him up so rudely.

“I’m sorry, I probably overreacted.” He apologised, sitting back down on the couch next to his sleepy, red-eyed companion. Mark watched Jack rub his eyes as if trying to get rid of his sleepy state by force.

“Nah, it’s perfectly normal.” Jack yawned, “My bad for sleeping there.” A hint of red crept onto his cheeks, his eyes still bleary after all the effort to wake up.

“Nope. I’m awful at having friends over.” Mark shook his head, his hand running through his hair meekly. “They usually just pass out wherever.”

“It’s no big deal. I slept fine.” Jack assured the other man, who still in his embarrassment, couldn’t meet his gaze. “Comfortable even.” He couldn’t resist tagging it on at the end, to the pleasure of his heart and the recoil of his hindsight, cringing at how suggestive it seemed. Thankfully, Mark was too deep in thought to notice the slip.

“I know!” Mark perked up suddenly, exclaiming. “To make it up to you, I’ll make you breakfast.”

“Ah, that’s…that’s sweet and all, but I gotta go.” The green-haired man had to decline, looking at his cellphone for the time. A worried look crossed the man’s features, but there was something about the way he looked that made Mark think twice about asking him about it.

“You sure? I make a hell of a pancake. Well, actually, it’s more of a crepe, but it’s a little thicker. It’s nicer than a thick pancake. You can put strawberries into it too! Let me see if I have strawberries…” Mark swept off into the kitchen, scanning the fridge for the mentioned fruit.

“Thanks, Mark, but I can’t. There’s someone waiting for me at my hotel.” Jack stood from the couch and began to gather his few possessions scattered in the living room. He made his way into the kitchen and watched as Mark flung every cabinet door open, scouring every cabinet for something to give him. The fluttering feeling that filled him all throughout last night came back, and he could do nothing but smile at the caring man, who had begun saying something about honey-soaked apricots.

“Really, I’m fine, Mark. Thank you for...well, a fantastic evening.” Jack assured the man, grateful for the kindness he was provided with. He recalled the wonderful little snippets of yesterday, from the Pub to drunk Mario Kart; he hadn’t had as much happiness as he had within those last twenty-four hours, and the bliss that warmed his heart spilled into a beautiful smile.

For a little moment, Mark was spellbound. Maybe it was the morning light streaming through the kitchen window, or maybe it was his partially-sleepy head, but there was something enchantingly haunting with Jack’s smile. Like the dawn breaking, it lightened his face, brightened his features to the point that Mark could feel himself get flustered with the intensity of such a genuine smile. At that moment, in that messy kitchen, he felt something for the man. Something small, something fragile—but it was there in the corners of his heart. He felt his heart warm for him.

“W-well, I should…really go. I’m late now.” Jack broke the moment between them, turning for the door. Mark snapped out of it, and followed him.

“You sure you don’t need anything?” He asked one last time. He didn’t know why he was being persistent with the fruits and the food. Not that Jack minded it.

“Yes, Mark. I’m fine. I’m not gonna die without your apricots.”

 

* * *

After the Irishman had left, there was an emptiness to the house that rubbed Mark the wrong way. The spaces that felt so homey and comfortable a few minutes prior became their usual cold places. Empty most of time, since the other two tenants of the house were on completely different schedules compared to him. Sighing, he wandered over into the kitchen and made himself a pot of coffee and settled down on the couch. Turning on the morning news, he laid back and nursed his hangover, taking slow sips of his coffee at a time.

It was depressing news after the other. Someone dying, someone killing someone, someone corrupted. He began to zone out the anchor’s droll voice and began to think of his friend. Even though he had already left, he was a constant occupant of his mind. He didn’t know why, but he can’t help but think of him, or the way he smiled. The sudden appearance of Jack in his mind bothered him endlessly. For no apparent reason, he had kidnapped his attention and held him against his will. Jack and his smile pervaded his every sense, and Mark couldn’t figure out why, or maybe he was afraid to know. The implications are huge, and as a man, everything in him refused to accept the feeling in his heart. It couldn’t be that he liked him, in a way that transcends friendship.

So, why is Jack filling his every thought?

Mark sighed, rubbing his temples. Thinking about it made his headache turn into a searing migraine. Eager to bury the way he felt, he went and got the test papers from Friday from his room and began marking. Soon enough, his mind was occupied with numbers and formulas. Jack was forgotten for a moment, and his head cleared. He got through halfway of his marking pile when something on the news caught his eye.

It was the entertainment section, the worst and the least interesting part of it. The female reporters were often blathering on about Hollywood scandals, and ‘who’s wearing it better’, but now, they were talking about a new movie being shot in his city, starring the one actor he knew the name of: Jack Graw.

His friend Jack surged back into his head, more specifically that encounter with Matt and Ryan that left him wincing at the way they acted. It was beyond rude, even if it turned out in another manner, and they did have the actor in their living room, it was still no way to act. The television flashed a picture of the actor, announcing the title of his new feature, and the teacher couldn’t help but stare wide-eyed.

Matt was right. Those were the same blue eyes. It was unmistakable, but they didn’t have the warmth or the brightness of his Jack’s eyes. These eyes were tired and were dulled by something heavy on his heart. It was him, yet it wasn’t.

“No.” He muttered, shaking his head. Jack—his friend, Jack—said it wasn’t him. He chose to believe him then, and he stood by what he knew. If not for the honesty in his smile, then Mark chose to trust in the truth in his eyes.

If he said it wasn’t him, then it wasn’t him. It was as simple as that.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: coffee is not actually a good way to cure hangovers.


	8. Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Staring up at the dark grey sky, I was changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains mentions of scars and self-harm.

Mondays weren’t inherently evil, it just seemed that way for Mark. Last week’s end was an interesting one, to say the very least. So he expected a no better start to another week than his alarm clock failing to wake him up again. He stumbled out of bed, made himself decent enough and rushed out of the house, this time having the proper mindset to actually take the car. The first few went well enough for classes on a Monday,  and before he knew it, the day was over and he was down to his very last lecture.

As a teacher, he shouldn’t even have preferences in students. It was his role to be a fair and just arbitrator of who lives and who fails one of the considerably harder class in Freshman engineering courses, but the last group was the one he liked the most out of his set of students because of how driven they were. But now, it’s that same intensity and dedication he was dreading.

He stood in front of the class in the final five minutes of their allotted time with a stack of paper in hand. At the sight of their test papers, the students visibly refocused, suddenly more interested in their grades than the slow crawl of time until freedom.

“Class, I’ve marked your tests. You could say that I am very pleased with the results.” Mark stoically called out, an uncharacteristic switch from his optimistic teaching style. His students perked up like cheerful little imps, each thinking back to his perfect-score promise. This was a prime piece of information about their teacher that they couldn’t wait to get their hands on, a sudden bright spot for a rainy, cold Monday afternoon. As Mark handed back their tests, he listened cheerfully to the sounds of disappointment. It really seemed as if everyone tried their best for this exam and it showed on their results. The room was peppered with 82s and 90s. There were even outstanding students that crossed the 95-point mark, but as his pile dwindled, their hope faded with each frustrated groan. His hand emptied and their professor smiled at them, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“I hope that everyone got the mark they wanted.” Mark smirked, as a thunderstorm of groans and jeers rang merrily in his ear. “Have a good af-“ He started, but was interrupted by one of his students; one of his brighter ones. Her interruption made him sigh, but he allowed her to continue.

“Where are you hiding my perfect exam?” His loudmouthed student, Maribelle, had her head on her hands as she smiled at him innocently, in that irritating cocky manner that made him despise her just the tiniest bit.

“What do you mean, Maribelle?” He asked. “My pile of exams for this class is gone. If you were there on Friday, then it should have been back to you already.”

“Well, I was there, you can ask anyone. They’ll vouch for me. And sir, I don’t have it.” She declared, seemingly amused by the way he was starting to rifling with his papers, in an attempt to look for it.

“Maybe I left it at home…” Mark wondered aloud, but Maribelle snickered.

“I think you’re hiding it on purpose. Isn’t it weird that I’m the only one without their exam paper back?” She asked, looking about her, attempting to rally the other students to her cause. The class was starting to get rowdy, the crowd obviously on the girl’s side. The professor was having none of it.

“Maribelle, I’m sure I just left it at home. I’ll give it to you tomorrow, I promise.” The professor couldn’t help but sigh tiredly but he was adamant and revealed nothing. The cheeky brunette girl knew she’d get the paper sooner or later anyway. With a huff, she let the teacher drop the subject, but not without it intriguing the class even more. Did he leave it on purpose because she got a perfect score, or did he really just leave it by accident? Regardless, they’ll find out soon enough, as they all packed their bags, talking to each other about their theories on the missing test paper. Mark watched them slowly file out of his classroom, laughing and talking with their friends, his hand hovering protectively over his notebook full of teaching material, pages lifted slightly by a folded piece of paper. Maribelle once again smiled innocently at him as she passed, taunting him as she eyed his notebook. He held fast. As his last student left, Mark breathed a great sigh of relief. He took out the piece of paper from its hiding spot and unfolding it, cursing under his breath at the reality he was going to have to live with.

No matter how he tried to find a fault, a formula misused, or a conversion done wrong—he simply couldn’t. It was a perfect exam score, unprecedented as far as he knew. While he was proud of his student achieving such a mark, surely reflecting the effectiveness of his teaching, he was conflicted with how he felt. His class was unforgiving when it came to bits about his life like they were all his annoying smaller sibling. _Have you got a girlfriend? Is she pretty?,_ those were common, constant questions that he had deflected perfectly before, because he was telling the truth then.

_No, I don’t._

That was then, so why did he feel this way now? The answer was the same from before. It was still no. But there was something he felt that made him choke at his answer. The feeling that the words that come out would be something he didn’t feel at all.

He shook his head to rid himself of the thoughts that have been plaguing him all weekend. Tomorrow, he was dead, but for now, he managed to live through another day.

He folded the paper back into his notebook and began to pack up, thinking of the various ways he could deal with Maribelle’s perfect score for tomorrow. He was deep in thought as he left the building, only stopping when his head began to hurt from the stress of the day and the threat of either blatantly lying to himself, or to his class; because there was no way he would tell them how truly confused he was.

Why did he even accept such a bet?

_Because then, he was sure of how he felt._

He walked down to the parking lot with a slight headache brewing on the back of his head. The rain was gently beginning to pour and he raced to get in his car, eager to be out of the oncoming downpour.  Deciding he was too tired to cook, and needed something unhealthy to distract him, he pulled out of the parking lot, eyes blinking tiredly, hoping to get some Chinese comfort food from one of the restaurants downtown. He drove to the heart of the town, the part that was lit with bright lights and neon signs, a stark difference from his suburban neighbourhood. He pulled up at one of his favourite restaurant and yawned, the rain pattering on his car room. He was so comfortable in the warmth of his car that he could almost fall asleep right there, but his stomach growling forced him to exit the vehicle, running towards a nearby awning. The smell of food from the restaurant wafted in the air and made him salivate. He was so focused on getting some sinful food that he almost missed a shock of bright green, talking animatedly in front of a hotel across the street. Squinting through the rain, he managed to make out the familiar face of his new friend, Jack talking animatedly in front of a lady.

No, not talking. He was arguing. By the way Jack clenched his fists, Mark could tell from his body language that they weren’t having a friendly conversation. Rather, it seemed as if Jack needed to get away from there, as he began to leave, only to be pulled back by the lady in the suit.

Trusting his instincts, he ran out from under the awning into the rain, crossing the street a little bit off from where Jack was. As he neared, he began to hear fragmented sentences from their conversation. Instinctively, he slowed his approach, hiding from behind nearby foliage.

“You need to come back—“ The lady firmly said before Jack interrupted her, launching into his own accented counterargument so quickly that Mark could only make out a few words.

“…I suffered in that industry, how dare…without my permission…”

Jack continued to speak, his pitch rising with frustration until Mark could hear tears in his voice.

“I never asked to be this way.” Jack whispered before he ran from the lady he was arguing with, going a few meters with eyes blinded with unshed tears. Mark watched him come closer, blue eyes watered down by sadness, and he caught him in his arms, surprising his friend with his sudden appearance. Mark didn’t know why he chose to embrace him, but the feeling of Jack’s warmth against him as he cried on his shoulder confirmed that he did exactly what he was supposed to. It brought out a whole new feeling, a surge of protectiveness that made him want to do what it took to make him smile again. Gently, he stroked his friend’s hair, comforting him in his moment of weakness. They stayed like that under the rain until his sobs became hiccups and his eyes cried no more. Carefully, Mark let go of Jack who wiped away his tears with the back of his hand. A watery smile thanked Mark, who could only return the gesture.

“Come with me. Let’s get some food. I know a great place.” Mark offered. His companion nodded and smiled through his reddened eyes, still steeped in misery.

Cold and wet, they crossed the street and entered the restaurant. The warmth and homely smell of it made Mark’s stomach grumble again. Chuckling, he came towards one of the waitresses and asked for the takeout menu. Jack, shivering, huddled close to Mark as they walked towards the counter, eyes downcast, hiding from the world.

“Hi Mark! Long time no see!” The cashier greeted the professor like a long-time friend. Mark smiled in response.

“Hi Cherry. I need the usual, please.” He said, then turning to Jack, who still looked at the tiled floors of the eatery.

“What do you want to eat?” he asked.

“Nothing, I’m not hungry.” Jack muttered, eyes refusing to meet Mark.

“No. You need to eat. You look pale.” He said, concern tinging his voice.

“Heh, you mean more than usual?” Jack chuckled darkly, laughing at his own joke, before he coughed, cut him off.

“Yes.” Mark’s tone became hard—angry, almost.  This caught Jack off-guard as he looked to him, eyes still red from earlier. Embarrassed, he looked away from the intensity in Mark’s dark eyes, unable to withheld the guilt he felt with the worry they exuded. Sighing, he folded.

“Just get me some sort of soup. I don’t care what.” He mumbled as he wandered off to sit in one of the chairs that lined the waiting area, evidently exhausted.

“Cherry, get me the soup of the day on top of my usual, and two portions of the leek dumplings.” Mark looked over to Jack, burying his head in his hands. The cashier, Cherry, headed off into the kitchen, yelling out Mark’s order over the hum of the radio, the kitchenhands answering her with a quick and dismissive ‘yes, okay’.

Cherry returned and told him to wait ten minutes. Mark thanked her and ambled back to Jack, suddenly ashamed of how he acted beforehand. He was just concerned at how tired Jack looked, with his eyes dragged down with heavy, dark bags. The rosiness on his cheek was gone. He looked pallid, ghostlike. For once, the brightness of his hair didn’t suit him. He looked like misery on legs.

He just couldn’t take how awfully tired he looked.

“Hey, I’m sorry about that.” Mark sheepishly mumbled. Jack looked up from his hands and gave him a weak grimace.

“It’s cool. Thanks for being concerned.” He replied.

Once again, an awkward quiet crawled upon them, accented by the hideous ticking of a nearby wall clock. Mark wanted to say so much. He wanted to ask him about this afternoon, about what had happened back at the hotel. He wanted to know what had made him so upset. _Who was that lady?_ Yet no words formed. Jack hid his face in his hands again, saving Mark from looking at those dull, burned-out eyes.

Soon enough, Cherry called Mark to fetch his order. He paid her and started to leave, expecting Jack to trail along beside him, yet as he passed he made no motions to move. Surprised, the professor turned and shook Jack, making him jump in his seat. His eyes were bright red and bloodshot still. He blinked repeatedly as if to clear his vision. Instinctively, Mark held out his hand as if to support him.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Just a small headache.” Jack muttered but nonetheless took Mark’s hand and pulled himself up from his seat, slumping slightly against the other man. Separating himself, he began to wobble towards the exit, hand occasionally pinching the bridge of his nose. Mark followed closely behind, arm still outstretched to catch Jack were he to stumble. Together, they left the restaurant and got into Mark’s car. Casting one last look at Jack, who leaned against the window, he pulled out of parking lot and drove them back to his house.

The car was deathly silent on their way back to Mark’s place, save for the hum of the engine and the low mumbling of a radio that both couldn’t be bothered to touch. The professor was paying twice as much attention to the road, while Jack stared out the window, dotted with rain droplets racing down, clumping together before disappearing into the pavement rushing below. The reflection of the city lights bounced around on the droplets. Beautiful, but lost as Jack stared right past them, not really looking at his surroundings, but rather he seemed to be deep in thought.

Mark had no clue how to bring up the events of the afternoon to his friend, as much as he wanted to know what made him cry so much. He didn’t want to hurt him any further than that lady apparently did. Mark was never good with touchy subjects. In fact, he prided himself in never getting involved in other people’s business. He never found it strange how he would go back on his principles of avoiding drama, just for the sake of his green-haired companion. He would do it all again, if he could make sure his friend kept smiling that lovely smile he liked so much. So, for Jack’s sake, he took a deep breath and addressed the elephant in the car.

“So, Jack…Uhm, if you don’t mind me asking,” Mark started carefully, watching for his friend’s reaction in the corner of his eye, hoping that he would tell him what transpired. Jack turned from the window and looked into his eyes with a sad smile.

“I…I-I…That was…someone close to me, someone that I think of as my second mother, the lady back there...” Jack began slowly, his eyes threatening tears once again as his mind reeled back to the past few hours of his day leading up that moment. Mark saw a variety of negative emotions flash on his face: anger, disappointment, but the most prevalent being misery. He looked absolutely miserable, as if his entire life had come crashing down on him.

“She…she…” He started, but realising he couldn’t finish his sentence as a barrage of fresh tears renewed his sadness, but in the darkness of the car, lighted only by a passing street lamp, he tried to hold off the grief in his voice.

“She wanted me to come back into…business. She had a proposal for me, I-I…didn’t want to but I-I…I couldn’t reject it. Goddamn it, she promised me!” Jack gripped his shirt in an attempt to calm his voice. Biting his lip, he hoped that Mark wouldn’t hear how his voice quavered with emotion. Silence greeted him, and in the darkness of the car, he couldn’t see Mark’s reaction to it. Silence was never good in his books. Embarassed to reveal such a weak side of himself, he let himself cry a bit more, once again watching the scenery fly past him.

The car slowed and sat silently after a few minutes, the thrum of the engine the only sound inside the vehicle. Turning off the engine, Mark sighed, pulling out the keys from the ignition. The weak light of the porch lamp finally allowed him to see Jack, still huddled next to the window, face turned away from him.

Mark took a deep gulp of air. What could he say to him? He was speechless. He couldn’t think of a single thing he could say. He didn’t know how to deal with other people’s emotions, especially when matters close to them hurt them. That was something he actively avoided.

So what was he supposed to do now? He wanted to comfort him so badly. He wanted to laugh with him again, and have those awkward moments that make his skin jump and his heart stop.

“We’re here.” Mark said, as he glanced sideways at Jack, who was still staring out the window, seemingly too lost in his thoughts to hear him.

“Jack?” He reached and touched him in the shoulder, only to have Jack slump back against his hand, a great heat coming from his cheek. He was asleep.

His heartstrings pulled, he let Jack rest on the car seat as he fished for the umbrella from under his car seat, something he never really used since he preferred to just run from his car to wherever he needed to go. He opened his car door and popped the umbrella open. Shutting his door, he circled to the other side, to the passenger seat. He opened the door, propping his umbrella to the side of his neck as he bent down and lifted Jack from his seat. He was amazed at how light the other man was, and at closer inspection, he was definitely paler than he remembered, the pallid look on his face replaced with flushed cheeks.

Mark straightened and carried Jack to his front porch, closing the car door with the tip of his foot. Using his shoulder, he rang the doorbell. Within minutes, Ryan opened up, his face morphing from a grin to confusion. Ignoring any of the silent questions that Ryan surely had, he passed him and went into the living room, where Matt sat on his laptop, writing up a document.

“Matt, d’you mind moving a bit?” Mark said as he carefully placed Jack on the couch, not waiting for a reply as Matt hopped out of his way.

“Mark, what happened?” Ryan asked as he looked at Jack, sleeping quietly on the couch, still cluttered with what seemed to be Matt’s notes.

“To be honest with you, I don’t know either.” Mark answered, scratching his hair, still damp from the rain.

“What, you just found him asleep in your car?” Matt asked, obviously taking the piss, but it’s been such a long day that Mark simply ignored him.

“I really have no clue. I saw him downtown while I picked up Chinese—“ He started.

“Wait, you got Chinese and you didn’t even tell us?” Ryan demanded, but the sharp look in Mark’s eyes quickly shut him down.

“Like I said, I just saw him downtown, arguing with someone in a suit. He ran away and I met him. Took him with me since it didn’t feel right to just leave him there to fend for himself. And by the way, I did get our usual, so of course I got you idiots Chinese.”

“Oh my god Mark, we’re not worthy.” Matt gleefully said as he bee-lined for the kitchen, eager to get his hands on the food.

“It’s still in the car. Get it.” Mark said as he tossed Matt the keys, who hurriedly vanished to the car to get the food.

Mark crouched next to Jack, inspecting his sleeping face. He was shivering, and his flushed cheeks were even brighter in the light. Yet, Jack looked white as sheets. Concerned, he placed his hands on the other man’s forehead, alarmed at how hot to the touch he felt. Deciding the couch was not a good enough place for him, Mark took him into his arms again and he went up the stairs, once again arousing confusion among his housemates, who looked on from the kitchen, digging through the plastic bags for their meal. But Mark didn’t care. He wanted to put him in bed, warm him up to stop his shivering. He strode into his room, gently placing him on the bed. He carefully removed his shoes and his jacket, wet from the rain. He felt his shirt and deemed it too damp for him to sleep in. He took off his shirt and was taken aback by what he had seen.

Scars. Many thin scars decorated Jack’s torso, most pooling at the corner of his sides, barely visible from the garter in his underwear. There were long swipes and shorter slices that were too organised and too many for it to be accidental. Some were faded with time, while some were still angry and red, still raw. He was shocked at them, for he had never seen so many cuts on a single body before. He glanced up at his sick friend, who was still shivering lightly, and was reminded of what he had to do. Putting the questions aside in his mind, he pulled out a shirt from his closet and clothed him in it. He bundled the blanket around him, ensuring that every inch of his body was covered. Once he decided that he was properly wrapped, he gathering his clothes, setting them to hang in the bathroom, all the while thinking of what he had just discovered.

Jack cut himself. He could see that he did it often, and recently as the image of that long, angry swipe was forever plastered in his mind. Why would he do such a thing? How could he hurt himself? The thought boggled Mark’s mind. He always thought of his friend as someone lively, happy and full of jokes. He was sunlight in human form, bright and warm. He would have never thought that a raincloud of troubles blotted out that sun, and often at that.

He fished for a hand towel to place on Jack’s head to cool down the fever and let the faucet run until it was warm. He soaked the towel and squeezed the excess water off, perhaps a little too hard. Mark was frustrated. Not only was his feelings beyond confused, it was being muddled by how angry he felt. Not Jack, never at him, but to what had caused him to feel the need to hurt himself.

Shutting off the faucet, he decided. No more avoiding problems, at least this one. He was going to confront this head-on. He was going to get to the bottom of the issue, and make Jack smile again. He quietly promised Jack he would never let him cry again, because as much as his feelings were confused, one thing was certain.

He hated seeing him cry.


	9. Superman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even heroes have the right to bleed.

Jack woke up to darkness, shapes highlighted by faint light cast by the streetlamps through the nearby window. He felt awful. His head hurt beyond belief and his eyes could barely stay open. In an attempt to shed light to his situation, he felt for the bedside lamp but was unable to find it. Confused, he surveyed the room through half-lidded eyes to find yet another surprise.  The walls that stared back at him were unfamiliar. This wasn’t his hotel room.

“Where in fuck am I?” He whispered quietly as he sat up far too quickly that his mind began to reel. He felt horribly nauseous and the room spun along with him. Groaning, he pinched the bridge of his nose and took several deep breaths to ease the headache and the nausea that was slowly rising from his gut. Shivering, he tossed aside the duvet that was so carefully wrapped around him, someone had to have tucked him into the bed. He doesn’t recall—he could barely think with the terrible pounding in his head. Deciding he needed to figure out where he was, he slowly stepped onto the floor, surprised to feel the soft texture of carpet against his feet. He began to walk about, slowly feeling his way around the room, knocking into a few things in the process. His legs felt awfully shaky, and he was breaking out in cold sweat. After a while, he had to clutch onto the footboard of the bed since his legs could barely support him. He felt weak, and that was a feeling he never liked.

“I gotta get back to the hotel. I gotta get out of—where ever this is.” He mumbled, just so his brain could hear it through the pain. He ambled towards the door, trembling in the chill he felt to his bones. Little by little, he began to remember what transpired yesterday—or at least he thought it was yesterday. As much as he tried not to think of it, the feeling of betrayal crept in and his body shook hard, this time from anger.

His manager came to visit him. His old one from his acting career he abandoned a few years back. She was like a mother to him, since she was the one who sheltered him and taught him everything he needed to survive as long as he had. He never hid anything from her; he couldn’t. She’d know eventually. She was there through it all—the scandal, the withdrawal, and the many, many bottles of liquor he used to cope. She held a special place in him. She was his comfort blanket. She was his safety.

It made it that much more heartbreaking for him when he found out that she told him, excitedly, that she had an audition for him. Another role he was cherry-picked for. It was of a novel someone wrote about love and all the sweet bits of it, and the author specifically requested him. She figured, with the book’s global success, it was a perfect way for him to get back into show business. A great and beautiful way for him to get torn down again, and it’s not a matter of if, but rather when, since he was already so haphazardly reassembled.

She was so happy about her news, unaware of how hurt he felt, and how scared he was of it. It was his old life; the lights, the camera and the horror-show of it. She promised him he could be away from that, as long as it took for him to be him again. It was all he asked of her.

She promised.

He bit his lip as he turned the doorknob, wincing at how cold the metal was to the touch. Regardless of this discomfort, he opened the door and was blinded by the hallway light. He winced at the sudden light of the hallway, and his head painfully throbbed sharply. He squeezed his eyes shut as another wave of nausea hit him. He clung onto the doorknob as he tried to breathe deeply again to soothe the oncoming queasiness in his stomach, but to no avail. With an odd burst of speed, he rushed to the bathroom, not even wondering how he knew where it was. He barely opened the lights before he slumped over the toilet bowl, heaving out nothing but bile from his stomach. His headache had evolved into a migraine and he was starting to see spots in his vision. Behind him, the door clicked close. He needed to get out of here as soon as he can. He can’t afford to have anyone see him like this. This was pathetic.

“Jack? Is that you in there?” A familiar voice floated over his migraine and without a thought, he replied to it—or tried to at least. Another wave of nausea hit him before he could say anything and he hung on to the toilet bowl as his stomach dispelled its contents again.  He heard knocking and the voice again spoke to him.

“Hey Jack? Are you okay in there?”

After the last wave, he felt better enough that he could tell it was Ryan behind the door. Mark’s strange friend who was suspicious of him from the beginning. Jack really did not want him to see this.

“Mm, y-yeah. I’m…I’m fine. No worries.” Jack managed to choke out, but he could tell by the knocking that he hadn’t convinced him at all.

“Jack, you need help?” Ryan asked from behind the door and Jack was miserable enough to consider asking for it, but he couldn’t let anyone see him as low as he felt right now.

“Really, I’m feeling fine, Ryan.” He mustered what little strength he had into his voice, making it quiver less and sound closer to regular Jack. He had hoped he could fool him into leaving him be. If he sounded fine, does it matter if he actually was?

A frustrated sigh caught his attention. “You know, you don’t have to pretend all the time. It’s okay for you to not always be fine.”

“W-what do you mean..?” Jack managed to choke out before he clenched his eyes as the light seemed to magnify his migraine even further.

“…I know who you are, you know.” Ryan continued, whispering now. Jack shivered as a sudden uncomfortable hot and cold feeling zipped through his spine.

“Haven’t we gone over this? I’m—“ He began, clenching his eyes once again as the headache and nausea came on full force.

“You ever heard of the internet, genius? It literally took me one minute to find you, Jack Graw.” Ryan said softly, as if this was only for the actor to hear.

A deep sinking feeling hit the pit of Jack’s aching stomach. Of course. It was only a matter of time before Mark knew who he was, and since he looked him up, there was no doubt in his mind that Ryan had already seen the articles about him. Panic had set in. His heart raced and he began to dry heave into the toilet. He couldn’t lose Mark. Not like this.

“…s-so what now, then?” Jack croaked, shaking after a while, both out of fear of what Ryan would say, and the uncomfortable hot and cold feeling that kept washing over his entire body. This revelation made his world crumble. His world right now was built around being with Mark, since being with him made him happy. It made him forget about how miserable he felt. It felt as if it didn't matter who he was. It was the fresh start he had been hoping for. Now, he was watching it start to crumble before his eyes. 

 Hot tears began to roll down to his cheeks from the pain he was feeling. How did things turn out as awful as this? Was meeting Mark and finally becoming happy--finally seeing a way out of feeling this terrible--just some celestial joke? His vision blurred, and he tried to wipe away the tears from his eyes but his eyes stayed unfocused. Everything simply looked like shapes and colours to him. Shakily, he pulled himself up from the floor using the bathroom sink as a support. His ears were ringing. He just wanted it all to stop. He caught a glance of his face from the mirror hanging above the sink, and was appalled by how awful he looked. Tired bloodshot eyes that are barely open stared back at him. No one can see him like this. He looked awful, terrible. He needed them to think he was fine. He needed Mark to think that he was happy. Not that it would matter anyway. Ryan will surely end up telling Mark, and he wasn’t sure how he would take the lie. Would he hate him for deceiving him? Surely, he'd be angry. Would he...hate him so much that he'd never want to see him again? Overwhelmed by it all, Jack crumbled back down to the floor, sobbing quietly. He really needed to go back to the hotel for some tangible and consumable comforts; his fall-backs, his true comforts, as he recently discovered: his cheap liquor and his prescriptions. They made him sink into such a deep, empty sleep, it was hard not to get addicted to the feeling of complete and utter nothing. With renewed resolve, he once again tried to stand up. He slowly shuffled towards the door, leaning on the nearby sinks and dressers so he doesn't fall again. Slumping against the door, his hand went to turn the knob. 

 _Who cares what he knows. I'll just vanish just as I appeared._ He thought to himself, assuring himself that it was the best course of action for him. His heart wept. 

“Well, you know," Ryan started, his voice so low Jack had to press his ears against the door to hear him. "There’s a reason why you’re hiding it. I’m not one to pry. That’s your business, and I’d be an idiot to get into that. It’s your secret, so you keep it. It’s not mine to reveal.”

Jack was stunned. He couldn't find the words to say. 

“Mm.” Jack mumbled. He wished he could thank Ryan for his kindness. He barely knew the man, but he forgave him for his lying and even offered to keep the truth to himself. He was grateful beyond belief and that hot and cold feeling washed away from him as relief settled in. He even managed a small shaky smile. However, the migraine had escalated to blinding heights and his head was starting to blank out. The blurred surroundings began to vanish into dark dots, eventually overtaking his eyesight. As much as he rubbed his eyes, he couldn’t vision wouldn't clear. Before he knew it, his legs gave way and the world flew into a swirl of bathroom tile white and vanished into darkness.

He must have made quite a racket, as Ryan began to pound on the door in earnest, banging as loud as he could. “Jack? JACK?!” The loud sound continued after his sight was gone. Eventually, even that disappeared as well. Cursing quietly, Jack surrendered, collapsing onto the bathroom floor.


	10. Catch Me, I'm Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know it's wrong for me to feel this way, but I don't know what I'd do without you

 

Mark jolted awake to the sound of Ryan screaming, banging on one of the doors upstairs. He grumpily blinked into the light of the television, accidentally having left it on after he fell into dreamless sleep, exhausted after such an eventful day.

“Ryan, knock it off. It’s 5 am for fuck’s sake.” Mark growled as he buried his head into his pillow, trying to drown out the noise from upstairs.

“Mark!” He heard Ryan scream his name as he barrelled down the staircase, one resounding footstep at a time.

“HOLY SHIT RYAN, SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Matt screamed from the upstairs, leaning over the banister as he yelled at the man who made a mad dash for Mark, evidently pissed off that the little sleep he was getting was getting ambushed by his best friend.

“Piss off, Ryan. I got work in a few hours.” The teacher mumbled as he closed his eyes again, face under his pillow in a poor effort to keep sound and light out.

“It’s Jack, Mark!” Ryan gasped as he stopped and banged on the couch, slapping the foam to emphasize his urgency. Mark could feel his heart drop to his stomach at the mention of his name. He quickly stood up from his place in the sofa and began to sprint up the stairs, hurrying to where he had heard the banging before, his heart pounding from something other than fatigue. Ryan followed him, running up the stairs behind him.

“I heard him throwing up in the bathroom so I went to check on him. I was trying to get him to open up so I could help him, but he just stopped talking all of a sudden and I’m really worried.” Mark stopped in front of the bathroom door and tried the doorknob as Ryan filled him in on the situation. The door was locked.

“Where are the keys, Matt?” Mark wasted no time locating them as he ran back down into the kitchen, furiously going through all of the drawers, searching for the spare keys.

“Uhm, I think it’s hanging in the hallway near the front door!” Matt shouted back, watching Mark run across the hallway to the front door where the keys were supposed to be hanging. He had never seen his friend so frazzled and distressed. Mark was a man of plans. He did everything in measure. He was the type to never go in blindly. In truth, he should have remembered where the keys were. That was his idea to put them there, since that bathroom door had been notorious for randomly locking its occupants in. This man was acting wildly when it came to that other man, for reasons Matt could only guess.

Mark rushed back upstairs, fumbling and trying the keys with shaking hands, carelessly pushing each into the  doorknob hard, as if he could force any key to open the door regardless of whether it could. Soon enough, he found the right one and unlocked the door. He opened it recklessly, as if his only concern was Jack. The door banged into the wall hard and chipped a nearby tile, but no one paid it any mind as all three of them filed into the bathroom and was taken aback by how sick Jack looked, lying unconscious on the bathroom floor.

His heart freezing, he quickly crouched and felt for Jack’s heartbeat, pressing his fingers against side of his neck. After a few worrisome seconds, he found a pulse. Breathing a sight of relief, he gently pulled the man up from the floor, cradling his head against the crook of his neck. His skin was ice cold, and yet his face was tinged with red. Feeling his forehead, Mark was alarmed. It was too hot to the touch.

“Ryan, get me some warm water with a towel and the thermometer.” Mark firmly said as he scooped up Jack from the floor and exited the bathroom. He quickly weaved past his two friends and into his bedroom where he settled Jack back down on the bed. He wrapped him in the blanket once again and felt his forehead, gritting his teeth at how hot Jack felt to the touch. His face was flushed red and covered in beads of sweat. He was panting and gasping for air.

Seeing Jack like this made Mark’s blood turn cold with fear. He hadn’t seen anyone so ill, and he was afraid it was much more than just a fever. From behind him, Ryan came and gave him the thermometer he requested, setting a small basin of warm water on the bedside table. He lifted Jack’s shirt, ensuring he only exposed what he needed to for fear that further cold will exacerbate his fever, and placed the thermometer in the other man’s underarm. Eventually, the machine beeped and Mark took it from its place.

“Fuck, 103 degrees.” Mark read as he got up and squeezed the wet towel from the basin and placed it on the sleeping man’s forehead to cool his fever.

“Isn’t that a little too high? Should we call the emergency clinic?” Matt remarked, keeping himself and Ryan out of Mark’s way as he rummaged around the room for more blankets.

“No, no. I think he just needs rest.” Ryan said as he began to leave the room, the tiny bedroom not that accommodating for four people, especially since Mark was dashing around the room. Matt followed suit, but still insisted on calling an emergency doctor.

“I really think he should take him to the clinic. I heard that high fevers can be very dangerous.” Matt said as he worriedly glanced back at Jack who was trembling under the sheets.

“Don’t worry I’m already calling.” Mark heeded his friend’s advise and grabbed his phone from his pocket, dialling the nearby 24-hour clinic in their area. Before he could get through the line, however, he heard Jack groan softly. Slowly, he watched tired, dull eyes flutter open.

“T-there’s n-n-no need for t-t-that.” Jack spoke slowly, his teeth chattering from the coldness he felt. He tried to sit up, but his arms couldn’t support him, and he unceremoniously slumped back into the pillows behind him.  
  
“Jack, please. Stop exerting yourself. Sleep, and we’ll have a doctor here soon.” Mark replaced the towel on his forehead, as the man’s movements had jostled the cloth about.

“N-no. I don’t want that.” Jack was undeterred by his earlier failure to sit up and tried again. This time he was successful, but the strain left him breathless.

“No. You’re getting a doctor.” The way Mark said it left no room for arguments or compromise, but Jack was resistant. Without warning, he quickly swung his legs out of the bed and tried to stand up, startling Mark into hurriedly coming up behind him to catch him were he to fall.

“Jack, I’m serious. You’re sick.”

“’m fine, Mark.” Jack tried to smile, but his knees gave out from under him. The shock of his legs buckling sent him clutching for anything to hold on to. He yelped as his hands caught nothing but air. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting the surely painful impact of the floor but it never came. Mark had caught him.

“Goddamn it, Jack! Just fucking rest!” Mark angrily ordered, pissed off at how stubborn the other man was being. He placed the man back on to the bed, hastily drowning him in the duvet.

“I-I can’t, I really have to go back to my hotel…” Jack muttered as his eyelids threatened to sabotage him. Regardless of how much he willed his body, it was far too tired to listen to him. He wanted to go back to his hotel and hide from Mark. He couldn’t let him see him this miserable. He hated how his forehead creased with worry for him. He hated having bothered the one person he never wanted to burden. He just wanted to sleep alone in his hotel room, forgotten by the world, just as he liked it.

“You’re in no condition to be alone, Jack. Who knows what could happen?” Mark huffed as he tried to settle Jack back into bed, but the other man kept kicking off his covers like a petulant child.

“What condition do I have, doctor?” Jack chuckled weakly as he attempted to sit up for the third time, but he had no strength left in his arms.

“Did I lose a leg or something?” Jack didn’t know if he was delirious at that point. He was saying nonsense, he was conscious enough to know that what he was saying was rude, sarcastic even. He just  wanted to erase that frown on Mark’s face. He wanted him to smile. He wanted him to laugh, to take this situation as some sort of weird joke. Anything to erase the guilt that was spreading over his chest.

“Jack, this isn’t a fucking joke. First, I find you crying in the rain, and now you’re trying to leave when you’re obviously sick. ” Mark’s voice had started to rise in pitch and volume. He was unbelievably mad with Jack and how he seemed to have absolutely no sense of self-preservation. He wanted to box him in the ear and yell at him at how stupid he was being.

“I’ll be fine. It’s nothing I can sleep off.” Jack was unrelenting, however.  At least for now, he seemed to have been completely spent and was starting to blink away sleep, fighting for his right to stay awake. Stubborn man.

“Then maybe you should start doing that then.” Mark shot back as he tucked him into his blanket again, his face drowning in emotions. Jack was irritatingly incessant about the issue for no apparent reason. Why couldn’t he just stay?

 “Can’t you just sleep? This hotel thing can wait until later.” He growled angrily as Jack ruined his handiwork once again by trying to sit up once more. Mark, with the last shred of his patience, forced him back on to the bed with a shove that was a touch too hard.

“Dude, you don’t just carry a random stranger into your house and beg him not to leave when he wants too. You don’t even know me.” Jack groaned weakly as he stared into Mark’s eyes and fought his stony gaze with one of his own, although his eyelids were threatening to drop on him any second.

“Why in fuck does that matter right now?” Mark exploded, screaming angrily at the Irishman, who was stunned into silence in the ferocity in his voice. Wide-eyed, Jack could only stare as the normally-calm-Mark began to run his hands through his hair; as if trying to alleviate the irritation he felt.

“You come into my life like a fucking whirlwind, managed to worm your way into my dumb, fucking head and now, you just wanna leave?” Mark clenched his hand, digging his nails into his palms. His voice trembled and he felt hot with exasperation. He hated this man. He hated everything about him, from the way he laughed at the stupidest jokes to the way he would bite his lips when he’s concentrating to the way he managed to make Mark feel so much in such a short time. He hated the way he made him feel like those stupid teenagers in sitcoms that fawn and sigh over their love interests. He hated how pathetic he felt when he smiled that lopsided grin of his, how he melted at the sight of blue eyes crinkling in delight.

He hated how, in this terrible burst of madness, he finally found out why he thought of him so much, and why he couldn’t stand seeing him look so dangerously fragile. He adored him, plain and simple. The conflicted, turning feeling in his stomach was still there, but the warm feeling of affection burned up the tinder in his heart, catching fire from such a small spark. Frustrated, he threw up his hands in defeat.

“You know what? Never mind.” Mark sighed as he closed his eyes, his face pinching in pain. He felt exhausted and he could not muster enough energy in him to argue back anymore. He was spent, and all he wanted was to sleep a little and maybe forget for a little about the man that came into his life just to make him suffer. One last time, he fixed Jack’s duvet over him, who stared at him with wide, calculating eyes as he pieced things together slowly. The professor turned to leave the room wordlessly, his mind buzzing with questions and regret. He didn’t mean to burst out like that. He just felt so mad at Jack, that it was like a wire has been tripped and all his emotions came pouring out in one messy storm. It was never his intention to yell at Jack. Dejected, he tried to leave when he felt something tug at his shirt. He quickly turned around and Jack pulled him back, short of breath from the strain of quick movements.

“So you want me to stay that bad?” Jack gasped as he fought to catch his breath. His eyes, although still tired, seemed to have regained a small spark, as they stared up at Mark in hopeful wonder. The teacher froze as he realised his slip and quickly looked back at him in panic. He could lie and say that he didn’t mean them. He could say those pitiful lies and make sure that everything stayed the way it was now: two grown man who are good friends and nothing more. Something about it rubbed him the wrong way. He could lie to Jack. He could, but it was pointless to lie to himself, because in the end, he knew the truth. 

 “Yes.” He replied boldly, his glance unwavering in their intensity. Jack, left breathless by his deep dark eyes, could only shake his head and sigh.

“Ah, you’re so cruel.” Jack chuckled weakly, falling on to his side, unable to sit up any longer. Mark glared at him, dazed. How was he the cruel one? How dare this man make him fall for him and heft him the blame for caring?

“How am I the cruel one, Jack?” The tone of Mark’s voice was a lot sharper than he intended because the bitterness of it bled from a true place in his heart. That place that was full of uncertainty and, dare he dream—hope. There was so much holding him back from just touching the man, as much as he wanted to sit next to him and hold him. So many questions he was afraid to ask, and answers he was afraid to hear. It was unprecedented torment. Nothing in his life had made him face such uncertainty as this tiny Irish man with lightning eyes, coming in like a rainstorm on his house of cards.

Stillness answered him. He couldn’t see the other man’s face anymore as he had buried his face into the pillows. Jack had finally fallen asleep. Mark conceded and softly shuffled towards the door to leave the man to finally sleep. The tiny tendrils of light creeping in from behind the curtains reminded the teacher of the time and Mark grimaced, a small headache forming at the back of his head.  He had hoped to catch a bit more sleep but after this, there was no way he could fall asleep anymore. His mind was riddled with too much worry, too much confusion and too much hope, his heart too full with unsorted emotions. Shaking his head, he took one last look at Jack’s sleeping form before he ambled off to the couch and eventually nodded off for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this! I appreciate you dropping by today and motivating me to keep writing this story. :)


	11. Unexpectedly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You caught me so off-guard.

 

Tuesdays, to Mark’s opinion, were definitely worse than Mondays. Mondays at least warn you in advance. The quiet of sleep, while appreciated, didn’t last long. He could barely move when his phone began to go off, his morning alarm screaming at him to get up. He groggily felt for his phone, his eyes still half-closed from sleep. When he felt the cool glass of it, he took it into his hands and squinted at his screen, his alarm still blaring that obnoxious rooster sound that he chose solely since it sounded irritating. He regretted that decision every morning since, but today it seemed to especially grate on his nerves. With a sigh, he turned the alarm off and debated catching a few more winks, even though he eventually decided against it since if his eyes were to close for even just a minute, he would surely end up just calling in sick. Which, really, wouldn’t be a lie at this point, since he did feel pretty terrible. His head throbbed from the lack of sleep and his throat felt scratchy and sore.

He eventually hauled himself off the couch and into the shower, a fantastic option in his mind since he could barely open his eyes and all the thoughts of yesterday were already flooding his head. Drowning them in the warmth of the water and the scent of shampoo sounded so good to his barely conscious brain. Plus, in the mess of yesterday, he never really got the chance to fix himself up. He stumbled up the stairs and into the bathroom, carelessly discarding his clothes and hopped into the shower, the warm cascade of water soothing his tired nerves. It had been an eventful past few days and stress of it all has been slowly weighing him down. He could barely focus, and with last night, he could barely keep his eyes open. He felt exhausted and yet his mind kept going over it all, like some macabre self-deprecating machine. Whoever said that the human body had a self-preservation mechanism was a big fat liar. He sighed and turned off the shower, lingering a bit in the tiled enclosure as a problem he should have thought about beforehand suddenly posed a threat to his already-frazzled nerves.

“How am I supposed to get dressed?!” He whined as he dried himself a little too harshly with a towel. There was no way he could go into his room, in only a towel, with Jack in there. He might be sleeping and considering the trouble it was to get him to actually do so, Mark was a little wary to accidentally wake him up, especially if he was going to do so while he was the most vulnerable and without his physical armour of slacks and a dress shirt. As reluctant as he was, he had no choice. He carefully made his way into his room, holding the knob still as he turned, praying that the door doesn’t creak as loudly as it usually did. He cringed when the door seemed to let out a sound twice as loud as he thought it would, and he stood still and watched the lump on the bed like a dazzled deer in headlights. Every nerve on his body was standing on alert, every cell praying that Jack doesn’t move. After a few more seconds of silence, he sighed, releasing the breath that he didn’t realise that he was holding. He crept silently towards his dresser, lifting the drawers as he pulled them out, muffling the sound of the wood scratching against each other. He fished for his underwear and yanked one on as swiftly and noiselessly as he could. He hastily put on his pants, his eyes every so often catching a glance of his sleeping friend, making sure that he was still soundly asleep. Everything went well enough that after a few moments, he was fully dressed and Jack was still asleep. Now confident that he was in a deep enough sleep and probably won’t even notice he was here, the professor ran a comb through his hair, all the while staring at his guest through the mirror. Even though he quietly did his routine, Jack still pervaded his every thought. Thoughts of last night returned without mercy, and once again, Mark was filled with a slight sense of dread as he caught himself gazing at the tiny tuft of green hair arching over the sea of white sheets. Jack was beyond stubborn last night, but he himself was unbearable. Maybe it was the fact that it wasn’t even daybreak yet, or that Ryan woke him up with his ape-like screeching but last night brought out something terrible in him. Even worse was the way Jack stared at him as he yelled his emotions out, like a toddler having a tantrum. He usually had a cap on his feelings, conditioned by girlfriends past who asked too much and gave too little. His life was structured before. He had his work, his housemates—however kooky they were, his friends. It was all neatly in place. He was living out a perfectly average life, and he was fine with that. There was something comforting in the way his alarm always goes off at a definite time, five days a week; something soothing in the way the morning air smells when he walked off to work. It was even calming to have his lectures: five of them on Mondays, six on Tuesdays, two on Wednesdays, four on Thursdays, two on Fridays. It’s true that fate can sometimes throw things at you, but at least then, his life was organised. He could react intelligently since it was all planned out. If his classes get cancelled, he can reschedule them quickly enough. If he felt ill, he would call up a substitute and call in sick for the day. Life was blissful when you could use your head to figure it out. His outburst last night proved how badly prepared he was for a tornado given human form, snoring away behind him in deep sleep.

He finished up with his hair, haphazardly styling it before quickly giving up since his stubborn mop of hair seemed to have a mind of its own anyway. Might as well, his head was full already.

He found himself dawdling around the room a little bit more than he should, checking around his office desk for papers he knew he didn’t need. He realised what he wanted, but laughed quietly at his thoughts, mocking them for telling him what it was. He knew. He didn’t need to be reminded of what he couldn’t have. As much as he wanted to rush to Jack’s side and pepper him with erratic kisses that may be a little angry and a little too frantic, he was still unsure. He didn’t know how to feel. He loved him, perhaps even at first sight, since one would really have to be mad not to fall for those warm blue eyes. His bright smile told Mark far more than he ever could with his words. There had always been a small hint of sadness in the smile Jack had, a soft bittersweet grin that the professor had noticed before, from the time they had accidentally met up until that point in the pub. The first time his smile lit up his eyes, over a conversation about video games if he recalled correctly, made Mark’s chest unbearably tight as he unconsciously held in his breath at how stunning he looked with a genuine happiness gracing his lips. It caught him so off-guard he ended up staring far too long and probably made Jack feel awkward.

Still, that smile had haunted him endlessly.

Regardless of how his brain screamed at him about how bad of an idea it was, his heart made him take steps towards the other man, who looked peaceful in his sleep. Repeatedly, his head begged him to turn around, to stay away, but the desire to touch him, even if it was only for a short while and even if it was simply the very most tip of his fingers, was overwhelming to the point that Mark had managed to convince himself that were he to wake up the man, he could easily pass it off as him checking up on him. Telling it to himself enough times eventually assured and placated his head and kept it quiet enough that he could hear his own heart nervously thumping in his chest.

 _Now what?_ He thought as he reached Jack’s bedside. He didn’t actually think he could reach this far. He figured he would end up embarrassing himself and running off with his emotions unsatisfied.

Crap, he didn’t plan for this.

He was close enough that he could reach past the barrier that friendship allowed him and touch the other man. He longed to feel his skin, warm against his hands. He wanted to take him into his arms and just hold him, indulging and drowning his own feelings in the very man that caused them in the first place. He was right there. He was fast asleep and surely wouldn’t notice if he snuck in a small caress.

Carefully, he leaned into the bed, his knee shaking as it dug into the side of the bed, jostling the other man slightly, inducing a sleepy groan from Jack. It made Mark freeze in his movements, like a criminal caught in the crime. He was unnerved by the sudden movement and lost all of the courage that his ambling around had built up. Hastily, he got off the bed and righted himself, cringing as his head, no longer mollified by what sounded like a perfectly good idea, began to scold him ceaselessly, without scrimping on the expletives like it usually did.

Defeated, he gathered his work bag from the room and exited, far more tired than when he entered. He really debated staying in from work. He was, after all, looking after Jack and who knows what Matt and Ryan were going to be doing for the day. Those two had an erratic schedule, and what’ll happen if Jack woke up with no one about? Mark had an inkling that he just might run off to that hotel like he had been saying all throughout that incident yesterday. There was no way he was letting Jack leave until he at least explained himself. What was the deal with the lady in front of the hotel? Why was he running away from her, yet itching to go back to his hotel? What had hurt him so much that he cried on the way home?

Most importantly, what about those angry, red scars?

As much as Mark loathed to think it, those were not wounds inflicted by accident. They were too regular, too precise to be anything but inflicted by the very person they were on. It wasn’t a one-time thing that a sudden flush of devastating sorrow caused. Some of his scars were milky-white and faded with time, but there were many that were still raw from a few days ago, red and angry; an external cry from his inner torment. It sounded ridiculous, even to his ears. Had he not seen them himself, Mark would have dismissed it as a joke, albeit in poor taste. Jack seemed so content, with a grin that could take your breath away and ocean eyes that threaten to wash you away into their depths. How could someone so beautiful hate himself enough that he’d cut into the very skin that Mark yearned to touch? The thought made his head spin and his heart hurt. He hated the thought of it, especially now that Jack seemed far more precious to him than his head let on. He hated the thought that Jack felt so trapped and cornered in his existence that the only relief he could rely on was the sting of pain as he cut away at his feelings, bleeding them out until he felt well enough to function. It didn’t click with the Jack he knew and loved, and yet the scars were there. It was real. He didn’t know what troubles Jack had undergone; what heartbreak and misery he may have encountered in the many years before they met. He wished he did, since maybe then he would understand. It terrified Mark to think that Jack had gotten so hurt that the only way he could keep himself alive was to wound himself.

Deciding, he jogged down the stairs and back into the living room, slumping down on the couch in his work clothes as he fished for his phone. He called administration in the university and let them know that he as taking a sick day since he wasn’t feeling too well. Feeling a small sense of relief, he kicked off his shoes and lied back down on the couch, wrapping himself in a blanket. He could endlessly wrack his head for speculations, but only Jack can truly answer the questions that were tormenting him. With a tired groan, he snuggled into his pillow and within seconds had fallen soundly asleep, finally having that quiet he had been unconsciously craving since he got up.

 


End file.
